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WhatToEat.Today

Vegan Indian recipes

Indian dishes with no dairy, ghee, eggs or meat. (681 recipes)

Verkadalai sadam (peanut rice)

Peanut rice is the filling variety rice that Tamil and Kannada parents send when the school day ends with games: roasted peanuts, dry coconut, sesame and red chillies are ground into a coarse powder and tossed through rice in a curry leaf tempering. It tastes a little like a savoury peanut brittle, and it stays good at room temperature for hours. The mistake is grinding the peanuts too long; they turn into peanut butter and the rice clumps. Pulse in short bursts and stop while it is still sandy. Chef's tip: keep a few whole roasted peanuts aside and add them at the end for crunch.

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Menthya soppu bath (fenugreek leaf rice)

In Bengaluru and Mysuru, a "bath" is a one-pan rice dish seasoned with its own roasted spice powder, and menthya soppu bath is the winter version, made when bunches of fresh fenugreek are cheap. Unlike Tamil variety rices, the rice is cooked right in the masala with the leaves, tamarind and a touch of jaggery, so it comes out soft, tangy and gently bitter. The common mistake is using too much methi stalk, which makes the rice harshly bitter; strip the leaves and use only the softest stems. Chef's tip: a teaspoon of jaggery and a squeeze of tamarind balance the bitterness better than extra salt.

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Capsicum rice (capsicum bath)

Every Bengaluru darshini has its own capsicum bath, and at home it is a favourite for office lunch boxes because the peppers stay crunchy until noon. Green peppers are sautéed just until glossy, then tossed with rice and a freshly roasted powder of coriander seeds, chana dal, dry coconut and red chillies. The mistake is cooking the peppers until soft; they release water and the rice turns soggy, so keep them bright and crisp. Chef's tip: add the powder to the hot oil off the heat for a few seconds before the rice goes in; it blooms the spices without burning the coconut.

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Pudina pulao (mint pulao)

Mint pulao turns up in tiffins from Hyderabad to Delhi in summer, when mint grows like a weed on balconies, and it is a lunch box that still smells fresh at one o'clock. Basmati is fried with whole spices and onion, then cooked in water coloured with a paste of mint, coriander, green chilli and ginger. The mistake is boiling the mint paste for a long time before the rice goes in, which turns it khaki and bitter; add it, stir for a minute, and get the rice in. Chef's tip: a squeeze of lime in the cooking water keeps the green colour brighter.

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Vegetable pulao

This is the plain, comforting pulao that gets packed for small children all over India, from Kolkata to Bengaluru: no chilli heat, just whole spices, a little fried onion and plenty of carrot, beans and peas. It is just as good warm or at room temperature, with a pot of raita or a few potato wedges alongside. The mistake is stirring the rice once the water goes in, which breaks the grains and makes it gluey; cover the pan and leave it alone. Chef's tip: cut the vegetables the size of a pea, so a child's spoon gets rice and vegetables in every bite.

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Urulaikizhangu roast (Tamil potato roast)

In Tamil lunch boxes, curd rice almost always comes with this: small cubes of boiled potato roasted slowly in a cast-iron pan with sambar powder, chilli and curry leaves until they are dark, crusty and chewy at the edges. It is a dry side, so it does not leak into the rice, and it tastes as good cold as hot. The mistake is stirring all the time; the potatoes need to sit undisturbed against the hot pan for a few minutes at a time to build the crust. Chef's tip: a teaspoon of rice flour scattered over in the last few minutes makes the coating even crisper.

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Vazhakkai podimas (raw banana podimas)

Podimas comes from Tamil Brahmin kitchens in Thanjavur and Chennai, where green plantain is boiled whole, grated into soft crumbs and tossed with a tempering of mustard, dal, ginger, green chilli and coconut, then sharpened with lemon. It is light and fluffy, and it sits happily next to sambar rice or rasam rice in a tiffin. The mistake is overboiling the plantain: it turns sticky and will not grate into crumbs. Pull it out as soon as a knife slides in with a little resistance. Chef's tip: grate it on the large holes of a box grater while still warm, then let it cool before tossing, so the shreds stay separate.

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Tomato thokkuSpiced tomato preserve

Thokku is the Tamil answer to a jar of chutney: ripe tomatoes cooked down slowly in plenty of gingelly oil with red chilli, tamarind and roasted fenugreek until thick, dark and glossy. A spoonful turns plain curd rice, idli or chapati into a proper lunch box, and travellers from Madurai carry it for trips because it keeps for weeks. The mistake is stopping too early; it is ready only when the oil floats free around the edges and a spoon dragged across the pan leaves a clean trail. Chef's tip: roast the fenugreek seeds until reddish before grinding; raw fenugreek makes the thokku bitter.

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Shepu bhaji (dill and moong dal)

In Pune and the villages of western Maharashtra, bunches of shepu (dill) come to market in winter, and this dry bhaji of dill and soaked yellow moong dal is packed with bhakri or chapati in the lunch dabba. The dill wilts down to a soft, aromatic tangle, and the moong dal gives it body and a little protein. The mistake is adding water: the leaves release plenty of their own, and extra liquid makes the bhaji stew and lose its fresh, sharp smell. Chef's tip: soak the moong dal for at least 30 minutes beforehand, so it cooks through in the dill's own steam without turning mushy.

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Lal mathachi bhaji (red amaranth stir-fry)

In Mumbai and the Konkan, bunches of red math (amaranth) with their magenta stems come in during the monsoon, and this quick garlicky bhaji turns the dabba's chapatis pink at the edges. It is cooked fast in a hot pan so the leaves stay bright, then finished with a little fresh coconut, the coastal touch that sets it apart from the Bengali way with the same leaf. The mistake is cooking it covered for a long time, which turns it grey and watery. Chef's tip: chop the tender stems finely and cook them for a minute before the leaves go in, so everything is done at the same moment.

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Methi besan bhajiFenugreek and gram flour stir-fry

Farmers in Vidarbha and households in Jodhpur both make a version of this: chopped methi leaves cooked down and then dusted with roasted besan until the whole pan turns into dry, savoury crumbs that cling to a chapati. Because it has almost no moisture, it is one of the best sabzis for a long journey or a hot day's dabba. The mistake is adding raw gram flour straight to the leaves, which leaves a pasty, raw taste. Roast the besan dry until it smells like biscuits first. Chef's tip: sprinkle a few drops of water over the crumbs and cover for a minute at the end, so they soften just enough without turning into a paste.

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Sem ki sabzi (flat beans with potato)

When flat green sem pods fill the sabzi carts in Lucknow and Jaipur in winter, they go into this dry stir-fry with potato and a crackle of ajwain, the classic partner for paratha in an office dabba. The beans stay a little firm and sweet, the potato soaks up the spices, and nothing drips into the roti. The mistake is leaving the stringy edges on the pods; they never soften. Snap the tip and pull the string down each side before chopping. Chef's tip: cook covered for the first half to steam the beans tender, then uncover and turn up the heat so the potatoes catch and brown.

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Soya chunks sabziDry soya chunk curry

Soya chunks, called nutrela or meal maker across India, are a hostel and office-tiffin favourite from Delhi to Hyderabad because they are cheap, keep for months and soak up masala like a sponge. Here they are boiled, squeezed and cooked dry with onion, tomato and garam masala until each chunk is glossy and coated. The mistake is not squeezing hard enough: water left inside dilutes the masala and the chunks taste of nothing. Squeeze them in a fist, twice. Chef's tip: soak them in hot salted water with a pinch of turmeric, so they are seasoned all the way through.

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Aloo bhindiPotato and okra stir-fry

Aloo bhindi is the sabzi that Delhi children are happiest to find in their dabba with soft phulkas: okra fried until its edges crisp, potato cubes browned alongside, and sliced onion cooked sweet, all dusted with amchur and cumin. The single big mistake is washing the okra and cutting it wet, which releases slime that never cooks off. Wash it, dry every pod with a cloth and wait half an hour before slicing. Chef's tip: add the salt only at the very end; salt draws moisture out of the okra and makes it sticky.

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Gobi matar (cauliflower and peas)

In Punjab and Uttar Pradesh, winter means cauliflower and fresh peas, and gobi matar is what fills countless school and office dabbas between November and February. It is cooked dry, so the florets brown a little at the edges, sweetened by the peas and sharpened by plenty of ginger. The mistake is cooking the cauliflower covered with water until it is soft and smells of cabbage; steam it briefly in its own moisture, then fry it uncovered. Chef's tip: cut the florets so they have one flat side; that face sits on the pan and browns while the rest steams tender.

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Pineapple gojjuSweet and sour pineapple gravy

Pineapple gojju turns up on banana leaves at Kannada weddings, housewarmings and Ugadi feasts, where its bright sweet-sour-hot taste cuts through the rice, saaru and payasa. Ripe pineapple is simmered with tamarind and jaggery, then thickened with a roasted paste of sesame, coconut, chilli and lentils until glossy. It is eaten in small spoonfuls with rice or chapati, or as a relish on the side. The usual mistake is adding the jaggery too early and boiling it hard, which makes it sticky and dull; let the pineapple soften first. It keeps for 4 days in the fridge. Chef's tip: toast the sesame seeds separately and add them last, so they stay nutty and you can hear them crackle.

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Kadle manoliBlack chickpea and coconut curry

Kadle manoli is a Konkani dish from Mangaluru and Udupi, cooked for festive meals, Saturday temple days and family gatherings, where it sits beside rice, dalitoy and papad. Black chickpeas and quartered ivy gourd are cooked together, then tossed in a coarse, roasted masala of coconut, byadgi chillies and coriander, a little tamarind and a coconut-oil tempering. It is dry-ish, coating each piece rather than swimming in gravy. The usual mistake is cutting the ivy gourd into rounds; slice it lengthwise into quarters so it stays crunchy-tender. Slow-cooker: cook the soaked chana and gourd with 500 ml water on low for 7 hours, then stir in the masala and heat through. Chef's tip: grind the masala coarse, with very little water, so it clings to the chickpeas and stays fragrant.

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Lauki chana dalBottle gourd and chana dal

In Punjabi and Haryanvi homes lauki chana dal is a weekday staple, and it travels in the dabba's lidded steel bowl beside rotis or rice. Chana dal holds its shape while the bottle gourd melts into it, so the dal is thick enough not to slosh about. The mistake is adding the lauki at the start with the dal: it collapses into strings and turns the dal watery. Add it once the dal is half cooked. Chef's tip: choose a young, pale-green lauki that your nail dents easily; an old one is bitter and seedy, so taste a small piece raw and discard it if it is bitter.

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Lemon sevai (lemon rice noodles)

Sevai is pressed rice-flour vermicelli, and in Tamil Nadu and the Mysuru region the lemon version is a lighter alternative to lemon rice for a school lunch box. Today most homes use dried rice sevai, softened in hot water and steamed, then tossed with a turmeric tempering of mustard, dal, peanuts and green chilli and plenty of lemon. The common mistake is soaking the dry sevai too long, so it breaks into short mushy bits; it should be just pliable before it goes into the steamer. Chef's tip: toss with a fork, not a spoon, and lift rather than stir so the strands stay long.

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Dalimbi usalSprouted field bean curry

In Konkan and Pune homes, dalimbi usal is a festival dish, cooked for Ganesh Chaturthi, weddings and thread ceremonies and served on the thali beside puran poli and rice. Dalimbi are dried field beans (val) that are soaked, sprouted and peeled; the work takes two days but turns them creamy and sweet. They are simmered gently with fresh coconut, goda masala, kokum and a little jaggery, without onion or garlic. Field beans must always be cooked until fully soft; never eat them raw or half-cooked. The usual mistake is boiling them hard, which bursts the soft peeled beans into mash; keep the simmer gentle. Chef's tip: soak the sprouted beans in warm water for 30 minutes before peeling, and the skins slip off with a pinch.

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Val valMixed vegetables in coconut gravy

Val val is a gentle Goan Saraswat stew of mixed vegetables in coconut milk, cooked for festive meals at Ganesh Chaturthi, weddings and temple feasts in Ponda and Margao, where it balances hot curries and fried fish-free starters on the plate. Drumsticks, pumpkin, green beans and potato cook in thin coconut milk with green chilli and cumin, then thick coconut milk is stirred in at the end for a creamy, pale, mildly sweet sauce. Eat it with rice, or with puris for a feast. The usual mistake is boiling it after the thick coconut milk goes in, which splits it into oily curds. Chef's tip: grind the cumin with the green chillies and a spoon of coconut milk; it gives a fresh warmth without colouring the white sauce.

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Sev tameta nu shaakSev and tomato curry

Sev tameta nu shaak is roadside-dhaba and home food from Kathiyawad in Saurashtra, cooked when the vegetable basket is nearly empty but there are tomatoes and a tin of sev. Ripe tomatoes simmer with garlic, red chilli and a little jaggery into a thin, sweet-sour-hot gravy, and a handful of crisp gram-flour sev goes on top at the very last moment, so it is half-crunchy, half-soft when you eat it with bajra rotla, thepla or rotli. The usual mistake is stirring the sev in too early, which turns the curry into a paste. Most sev is made from gram flour, but check the packet if you avoid gluten. Chef's tip: use thick sev (ratlami or bhavnagari), which holds its crunch far longer than nylon sev.

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Neem begunNeem leaves with aubergine

Neem begun opens a traditional Bengali lunch in spring, especially around Poila Baisakh, when the neem trees of West Bengal put out soft new leaves. A few tender leaves are fried crisp in mustard oil, then tossed with small cubes of fried aubergine so the bitterness is softened by the creamy brinjal. Eat a spoonful or two with the first mouthfuls of rice, before the dal. It is suitable as part of a balanced diet and is meant to be eaten in small amounts, as Bengali cooks always have. About 110 kcal and 7 g carbohydrate per portion. The usual mistake is frying the neem too long, which turns it black and acrid; it needs only seconds. Chef's tip: dry the leaves completely on a cloth before they go into the oil, or they spit and steam instead of crisping.

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Jhinge postoRidge gourd with poppy seeds

Jhinge posto is a summer staple of West Bengal and especially the Bankura and Birbhum districts, where poppy seed (posto) goes into almost every everyday lunch. Ridge gourd is cooked in its own juices with nigella seeds and green chilli, then coated in a creamy paste of ground white poppy seeds, giving a mild, nutty, slightly sweet dish. Serve it with rice and dal, or with a millet roti for a lower-GI plate. It is suitable as part of a balanced diet. About 150 kcal and 9 g carbohydrate per portion. The usual mistake is adding water: the gourd releases plenty, and extra water makes the posto runny. Chef's tip: soak the poppy seeds in hot water for 20 minutes before grinding so the paste is smooth, not gritty.

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TondakMixed beans and cashew gravy

Tondak is a Goan Saraswat dish cooked in homes around Ponda and Margao for festivals, weddings and Sunday lunches: mixed beans and plump cashews in a gravy of roasted coconut, red chillies and coriander seeds. The beans soften into the reddish-brown sauce while the cashews stay buttery, making it filling and rich in protein. Serve it with a little rice or a millet bhakri and a vegetable side. It is suitable as part of a balanced diet. About 380 kcal and 34 g carbohydrate per portion. The usual mistake is grinding raw coconut; it must be roasted to a deep golden brown first or the gravy tastes flat. Chef's tip: dried kidney beans must be soaked overnight and boiled hard for 10 minutes before they simmer, so do this even if you then use a slow cooker or pressure cooker.

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Tuver tothaGreen pigeon peas in garlic gravy

Tuver totha is a winter street-stall and wedding favourite from Mehsana and the villages of North Gujarat, eaten hot on cold evenings when fresh green tuver is in season. The peas are boiled soft, then simmered in a fiery, garlicky gravy of onion, tomato and green chilli and finished with chopped onion, coriander and lemon. In Gujarat it is mopped up with bread; for a lower-GI plate serve it with a bajra rotla or a small bowl of brown rice. It is suitable as part of a balanced diet. About 260 kcal and 30 g carbohydrate per portion. The usual mistake is undercooking the peas, which then stay chalky in the gravy. Out of season, use frozen green pigeon peas, or dried green tuver soaked overnight and pressure-cooked. Chef's tip: mash a ladle of the cooked peas and stir them back in so the gravy thickens without any flour.

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Gogji razmaKidney beans with turnips

In the Kashmir valley, gogji razma is a winter comfort dish, made in heavy pots when turnips are sweet after the first snow and dried beans from Bhaderwah fill the store. Red kidney beans and turnip chunks simmer in a thin, red gravy flavoured with mustard oil, ground fennel, dried ginger and Kashmiri chilli, without any onion or tomato. Serve with a modest bowl of rice or a millet roti and a green salad. It is suitable as part of a balanced diet. About 300 kcal and 38 g carbohydrate per portion. The usual mistake is slow-cooking dried kidney beans without boiling them hard first; raw kidney beans are unsafe, so soak them overnight and boil hard for 10 minutes before simmering. Chef's tip: add the turnips only when the beans are almost soft, so they keep their shape and sweetness.

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Mochai kottai kuzhambuField bean gravy

Across Tamil Nadu, from Madurai to Tirunelveli, mochai kottai kuzhambu is a winter and weekend curry: dried field beans and small brinjals stewed in a thick tamarind and sambar-powder gravy with shallots and garlic. It is cooked in a big batch, because everyone agrees it tastes better the next day, and eaten with rice, a spoon of sesame oil and appalam or a simple keerai. The beans turn creamy and the brinjal melts into the sauce. Dried field beans must be soaked and boiled until completely soft; never eat them undercooked. The usual mistake is adding the tamarind before the beans are tender, because acid stops them softening. Slow-cooker: boil the soaked beans hard on the hob for 10 minutes first, then cook everything on low for 6 hours. Chef's tip: fry the brinjal in the oil before the gravy goes in, so it holds its shape instead of dissolving.

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Paruppu urundai kuzhambuLentil dumpling gravy

Paruppu urundai kuzhambu is a Sunday-lunch treat in Tamil homes from Chennai to Coimbatore: coarse balls of soaked chana and toor dal, spiked with fennel, chilli and shallot, dropped raw into a bubbling tamarind gravy where they steam and firm up. The dumplings come out soft inside and soak up the sour, spicy sauce, and the crumbs that escape thicken the gravy. Serve it with plain rice, a spoon of sesame oil and a vegetable poriyal. The usual mistake is stirring as soon as the balls go in, which breaks them; leave them alone until they float and feel firm. Chef's tip: drop one test ball in first; if it cracks, knead a spoon of rice flour into the mixture before shaping the rest.

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Lilva tuvar nu shaakGreen pigeon pea curry

From December to February, Gujarati markets fill with fresh tuvar pods, and families in Surat, Vadodara and Ahmedabad spend evenings shelling them for lilva dishes. This simple shaak cooks the sweet, nutty green pigeon peas with ginger, green chilli, ajwain and a fistful of coriander, with a squeeze of lemon and a pinch of sugar for the classic Gujarati balance. Eat it with bajra rotla, rotli or khichdi. The usual mistake is cooking the peas too long, which turns them grey and floury; they should stay green and tender. Chef's tip: frozen lilva from Indian grocers work well outside the season; add them straight from frozen and shorten the cooking time.

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Batata nu rasawalu shaakPotato curry in thin gravy

Batata nu rasawalu shaak is the potato curry that arrives with hot puris at Gujarati wedding breakfasts, Sunday brunches and festival thalis, and it is one of the first curries children in Gujarat love. Soft potato chunks float in a thin, red, sweet-and-sour gravy with mustard seed, curry leaves and hing, lightly spicy and very comforting. Serve with puri, rotli or plain rice. The usual mistake is cutting the potatoes in uneven pieces, so some fall apart while others stay hard; cut them all the same size. Chef's tip: once the potatoes are cooked, mash a few against the side of the pan; the starch gives the rasa (gravy) body without any flour.

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Teliya maahBlack lentils in mustard oil

Teliya maah is one of the dishes of the Himachali dham, the feast cooked by hereditary cooks (botis) in big brass pots for weddings and temple fairs in Mandi, Kangra and Chamba, and served on leaf plates with rice. Whole black urad is cooked slowly with plenty of mustard oil, whole spices, ginger and fennel until each bean is soft but whole and glossy with oil; like most dham dishes, it uses no onion or garlic. Serve with rice and a sour madra or khatta. The usual mistake is stirring hard once the urad is soft, which turns it into a mushy dal instead of separate, oily beans. Slow-cooker option: put the soaked urad, spices and water on low for 8 hours, then finish uncovered on the hob. Chef's tip: heat the mustard oil until it smokes, then let it cool for a minute, which takes away its raw bite before the spices go in.

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Kumaoni rasMixed dal broth

In the hill villages of Kumaon in Uttarakhand, ras is cooked through the cold months in a heavy iron kadhai that sits on the fire for hours; the iron turns the broth dark and earthy, and families drink it with rice or mandua (finger millet) roti. Several whole dals, here horse gram (gahat), black soybeans (bhatt), black urad and green moong, are simmered until their liquid becomes a rich, brown, silky broth, lightly thickened with ground rice and finished with a crackling mustard-oil tempering of jakhya seeds. The cooked dal solids are eaten too, as a dry side. The usual mistake is hurrying: the broth needs long, slow simmering to turn silky and full-flavoured. Chef's tip: jakhya (wild mustard seed) is sold in Uttarakhand shops; cumin is a fair stand-in.

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Milagu kuzhambuBlack pepper tamarind gravy

Milagu kuzhambu is the Tamil Brahmin travel curry: a dark, peppery tamarind gravy cooked down in sesame oil until thick, packed in a steel tin for train journeys and pilgrimages because it keeps for days without spoiling. At home it is mixed into hot rice with a spoon of ghee, on rainy days or when someone has a cold, and eaten with a plain poriyal or appalam. A little goes a long way: it is sharp, hot and slightly sweet. The usual mistake is pulling it off the heat too soon; it must reduce until the oil floats on top, or it tastes raw and won't keep. Store it covered in the fridge for up to 5 days and always use a dry spoon. Chef's tip: roast the pepper and lentils on a low heat until you smell them, not until they darken, because burnt pepper turns the whole pot bitter.

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Kumm curryMushroom curry

In Kodagu (Coorg), the first monsoon rains bring wild mushrooms called kumm up through the coffee estates, and Kodava families cook them at once into this thick, dark, peppery curry to eat with akki otti (rice rotis) or steamed rice. Mushrooms simmer down with onion and coconut in a paste of spices roasted almost black, sharpened with a drop of kachampuli, Coorg's dark fruit vinegar. Cultivated mushrooms work very well. The usual mistake is adding all the mushrooms to a cool pan, so they stew in their liquid and turn rubbery; let the pan get hot first. Chef's tip: never cook mushrooms you have foraged yourself unless an expert has identified them; use a mix of button, oyster and shiitake instead.

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Sorakaya pulusuBottle gourd in tamarind gravy

Sorakaya pulusu is everyday Telugu home cooking from Vijayawada to Visakhapatnam, made on weekdays when there's a bottle gourd in the basket and the family wants something light and sour with rice. Soft pieces of gourd simmer in a thin tamarind broth balanced with a little jaggery, chilli and onion, thickened only lightly with rice flour, and finished with a mustard and fenugreek tempering. Mix it into hot rice with a spoon of ghee or eat it with a crisp vada. The usual mistake is overcooking the gourd to mush; it should be tender and translucent but still in pieces. Chef's tip: taste a raw slice of the gourd before cooking, and throw it away if it is bitter, because bitter bottle gourd should not be eaten.

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ThechwaniCrushed radish curry

Thechwani is a winter dish from the hill villages of Garhwal, Uttarakhand, cooked when the radishes are fat and sweet. Instead of chopping, the radish (or potato) is bashed with a stone or pestle so it cracks into rough pieces with lots of surface, then simmered in an iron kadhai with mustard oil, jakhya seeds and a little tomato. The broken pieces soak up the spices, and the iron pot darkens the gravy. It is eaten with rice or mandua (finger-millet) roti. Jakhya, a crunchy wild seed, is sold in hill stores; cumin is the swap. The usual mistake is slicing the radish neatly with a knife, which keeps the spices on the outside. Chef's tip: add the radish greens, finely chopped, in the last 5 minutes for colour and a peppery bite.

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PhaanuGround mixed lentil stew

Phaanu is everyday food in Garhwal's hill villages, from Pauri to Tehri, made on cold days and in large pots for family gatherings. Mixed lentils are soaked overnight, ground to a coarse paste and simmered slowly in an iron pot until the paste turns into a thick, earthy stew, with spinach or other greens and a mustard-oil and jakhya tempering. It is eaten with steamed rice and a little ghee. The usual mistake is adding the paste to the pot and walking away; for the first 10 minutes it must be stirred constantly or it forms lumps and sticks to the bottom. Chef's tip: whisk the lentil paste into cold water before it goes on the heat; it thickens smoothly and never catches.

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Tschok wangunSour tamarind aubergine

Tschok wangun is a Kashmiri Pandit dish from the Srinagar valley, cooked on ordinary weekdays and on fasting days when onion and garlic are kept out of the kitchen. Thick wedges of aubergine are fried in smoking mustard oil, then simmered in a thin, tart tamarind broth flavoured with ground fennel, dried ginger and Kashmiri chilli, so the pieces keep their shape but turn silky inside. Serve it with plain steamed rice and a bowl of dal. The usual mistake is adding the tamarind before the aubergine is properly fried: the pieces then soak up the sour liquid, collapse and taste raw. Chef's tip: heat the mustard oil until it just smokes, then let it cool for a minute before frying, which takes away its harsh edge.

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Chapor ghontoFried lentil cake vegetable curry

In West Bengal, chapor ghonto is the thrifty, comforting dish that turns up at weekday lunch and on the vegetarian days of the Durga Puja season. Soaked yellow peas are ground and fried into small savoury cakes (chapor), then broken into a slow-cooked mix of potato, pumpkin and banana stem tempered with panch phoron, ginger and a little sugar, until everything turns soft, jammy and lightly sweet. Eat it with plain rice and a squeeze of lime. The usual mistake is stirring the chapor in too early, so they dissolve into mush; add them in the last ten minutes. Chef's tip: soak the banana stem in water with a pinch of turmeric as you slice it and pull away the fibres that wind round your finger, or it stays stringy.

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Ou tenga dalMasoor dal with elephant apple

Assamese cooks love a sour note, and ou tenga dal is the everyday lentil dish of Upper Assam's homes in the monsoon and autumn, when elephant apples (ou tenga) fall from the trees. Split masoor is boiled thin with turmeric and slices of the hard, tart fruit, then tempered with mustard oil, panch phoron and garlic, so it tastes bright, fruity and comforting. Serve with rice, or with a millet roti and a green vegetable for a lower-GI plate. It is suitable as part of a balanced diet. About 190 kcal and 26 g carbohydrate per portion. The usual mistake is adding the fruit too late, so its sourness never comes out; it must cook with the lentils from the start. If you can't find it, use a slice of green mango or 1 tsp tamarind. Chef's tip: bruise the ou tenga slices with a pestle so they release their juice.

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Kadha (spiced herbal decoction)

When the fog settles over Delhi, Lucknow and the plains of Uttar Pradesh in December, or whenever the monsoon brings coughs round the house, someone puts a pan of kadha on the stove. Tulsi leaves, ginger, black pepper, cinnamon, cloves and sometimes a little ajwain are boiled hard until the water reduces by half, then sweetened with jaggery and sipped in small cups, morning or night. It is not a gentle tea: it is hot, peppery, clove-numbing and earthy, with a dark amber colour and a sweet edge. It is traditionally drunk for coughs and colds; it does not replace medical care, and anyone who is pregnant, on medication or giving it to small children should keep it mild and check with a doctor. The common mistake is simmering it gently like tea: kadha needs a steady boil so the spices give up their strength and the liquid reduces. It is ready when the volume has halved and the brew is deep amber and pungent. Chef's tip: crush the pepper and cloves just before they go in; whole spices hardly flavour the water in this short time.

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Variyali sharbat (fennel cooler)

On May afternoons in Ahmedabad and Surat, when the loo wind blows and nobody wants a hot drink, Gujarati homes keep a bottle of variyali sharbat concentrate in the fridge. Fennel seeds are soaked, ground with rock sugar, strained and mixed with lemon and a little black pepper, then diluted with iced water for guests, after lunch, or to break a fast, since nothing in it is off-limits on upvas days if you use rock salt. It is pale green and cloudy, with a sweet aniseed taste, a sharp lemon finish and a faint peppery tingle. The common mistake is grinding dry fennel straight away: it stays gritty and the flavour is harsh. Soak the seeds for at least two hours so they swell and grind into a smooth paste. It is ready when the strained concentrate is silky, smells clearly of fennel and tastes very sweet, as it will be diluted three or four times. The concentrate keeps 5 days in the fridge in a clean bottle. Chef's tip: add a few mint leaves or a pinch of cardamom when grinding for a more rounded cooler.

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Paneer soda (rose soda)

Every Tamil town once had a soda shop with crates of Codd-neck bottles sealed by a glass marble, and the pop of the marble being pushed down was the sound of a hot afternoon. Paneer here means rose water, not cheese, and paneer soda is rose syrup topped with that sharp local fizz, sold in Madurai, Tiruchi and Coimbatore by the bus stand and at temple festival stalls in Chithirai and Vaikasi, the hottest months. It is sweet and floral at first, then the bubbles and a touch of lime cut through and leave the mouth clean. The mistake most people make is boiling the rose water with the sugar: the scent cooks away and you are left with plain syrup. Make the syrup first, let it cool, and only then stir in the rose water. The syrup is ready when it is clear and slightly thickened, like thin honey, and the finished drink should be rosy pink and still foaming as you hand it over. Chef's tip: chill the syrup, the soda and the glasses well; warm soda loses its fizz the moment it meets the syrup.

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Cauliflower avakayaCauliflower pickle

When the mango jars run low and the Andhra and Telangana winter brings piles of dense white cauliflower to the markets, from December to February, households make a cauliflower avakaya. Lemon juice stands in for the sour mango, and the florets are coated in the same masala of mustard powder, chilli, salt, fenugreek and garlic, tempered with gingelly oil. After two days the florets have soaked up the masala but still crunch; the pickle is hot, nose-tingling and bright with lemon. Serve it with hot rice and ghee, with chapati, or beside a plain dal. Cauliflower is not acidic by itself and this pickle contains raw garlic, so it is always kept in the fridge, with plenty of lemon. Common mistake: packing florets that are still damp; wash them in hot salted water to drive out any insects, then dry them for several hours until no moisture remains. It is ready when the florets taste seasoned to the core and the oil and lemon have formed a glossy red sauce. Chef's tip: cut the florets small, about 2 cm, so the masala can reach the middle.

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Pandu mirapakaya pachadiRipe red chilli pickle

Guntur is chilli country, and when the fields turn red between January and March, Andhra kitchens buy fresh, fully ripe red chillies by the kilo for this pachadi. The chillies are chopped, salted and packed with tamarind for two days, then ground coarse with roasted fenugreek and sealed under a tempering of gingelly oil, mustard and hing. The result is brick red, fiery and fruity rather than smoky, with a sour backbone from the tamarind and a faint bitterness from the methi. A teaspoon is mashed into hot rice with a spoon of ghee or sesame oil, and it is just as good beside idli, dosa or pesarattu. The big mistake is washing the chillies and grinding them while still damp: water is what makes this pachadi spoil, so wipe them dry and leave them on a cloth for a few hours. It is ready when the paste is thick and glossy and the oil pools on top. Salt here is high on purpose, about 12 g for every 100 g of chillies, and the tamarind makes it acidic; even so, keep it in the fridge, where it lasts up to 6 months. Chef's tip: mix in a few Byadgi or Kashmiri chillies with the hot Guntur ones for a deeper red without extra fire.

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Chintakaya pachadiGreen tamarind pickle

In Telangana and coastal Andhra, the tamarind trees hang heavy with tender green pods from December to February, and every household that can lays in a jar of chintakaya before the pods ripen and turn brown. The raw pods are pounded with salt and turmeric and left to mature into a sharp, olive-green base that keeps for the whole year. Small portions are then ground with chillies and finished with a crackling tadka whenever the family wants it. The taste is pure, mouth-puckering sourness with a fresh, almost apple-like green note, very different from ripe tamarind. Mix it into hot rice with sesame oil, or eat it with jonna rotte (sorghum flatbread) and raw onion. The common mistake is to let wet pods into the jar: wash the tamarind the day before, then spread it to dry completely. The salted base is very acidic and roughly 15% salt, so it keeps in a cool cupboard; the finished pachadi with chillies belongs in the fridge and is best within 3 weeks. It is ready when the paste is coarse, dark green and smells sharply sour. Chef's tip: roast dried chillies for a smoky winter version, or use green chillies for a brighter, fresher heat.

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FafdaGram flour strips with papaya salad

On Sunday mornings, and above all on Dussehra, Ahmedabad queues outside its farsan shops for paper parcels of fafda: long, pale-gold strips of gram flour dough, crisp and gently salty with carom, eaten beside hot jalebi, a sour-sweet raw papaya relish called sambharo and whole fried chillies. The real craft is the shaping, done by pushing a little log of dough along a wooden board with the heel of the hand until it stretches into a thin ribbon. Chef's tip: knead the dough with your knuckles for a full 5 minutes until it turns smooth and slightly shiny, or the strips tear as you push them.

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Dalvada (Ahmedabad moong dal fritters)

The first monsoon shower in Ahmedabad sends people straight to the dalvada counters by Raipur Darwaja, where fritters of split green moong come out of the karahi by the basketful and are sold by weight with sliced raw onion and salted fried chillies. They are rough and craggy outside, light and steamy inside, warm with ginger and cracked pepper. Eat them hot with masala chai while the rain falls. Chef's tip: grind the dal coarse with almost no water, then whisk the batter by hand for a few minutes; the air you beat in is what keeps them light.

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Burma athoBurmese noodle salad

When Tamil families returned from Burma in the 1960s they brought atho with them, and today it is cooked on carts around Burma Bazaar, Parry's Corner and along the roads near the harbour in George Town, busiest at lunch and in the early evening. Cold noodles are mixed by hand with raw cabbage and onion, crisp fried garlic, tamarind, chilli flakes, roasted gram powder and lime, and come with a peppery banana-stem soup on the side. It is sour, hot, crunchy and very moreish. Contains wheat. Chef's tip: fry the garlic slowly until only pale gold; it keeps darkening off the heat and turns bitter if you wait for brown.

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Mushroom kaalanCrisp fried mushroom

Kaalan is the Chennai evening snack you smell before you see: carts around Pondy Bazaar in T. Nagar and along Besant Nagar beach fry clumps of chopped mushroom and cabbage, then chop them with a steel scraper on a giant tawa into a dark, peppery masala and heap them on paper plates with raw onion and coriander. It is crunchy at first, then soft and spicy as the gravy soaks in. Contains wheat. Chef's tip: mix the batter only when the oil is hot; salted mushrooms start weeping water within minutes and the batter turns sloppy.

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Samosa pavSamosa in a bun

At the steaming kadhais outside Kurla and Ghatkopar stations, and at Sion's famous samosa counters, commuters grab samosa pav on the way to and from the local trains, from breakfast until long after dark. A hot potato samosa is pressed flat inside a soft, split pav with fiery dry garlic chutney and green chutney, and a salted fried green chilli comes on the side. It is filling, cheap, crumbly and hot, and the soft bread soaks up the chutneys. Use dairy-free pav to keep it vegan. Chef's tip: start the samosas in oil that is only warm; slow frying gives the blistered, flaky crust that holds up when squashed.

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Aloo kabliPotato and chickpea chaat

Aloo kabli is the after-school snack of Kolkata: vendors with a big aluminium bowl stand outside the school gates of north Kolkata and around Vivekananda Park from about four o'clock, mixing it to order and spooning it into sal-leaf bowls. Cubes of boiled potato and soft white chickpeas are drenched in sour tamarind water, then seasoned with fresh green chilli, raw onion, roasted cumin and pungent black salt, and finished with a squeeze of lime. It is tangy, smoky and sharp rather than sweet. Chef's tip: dress the potatoes while they are still slightly warm so they drink up the tamarind.

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MagayaSun-dried mango pickle

In Andhra Pradesh the pickle season opens around Ugadi, and long before the fiery avakaya is cut, many homes make magaya, the gentler mango pickle. Peeled raw mango is sliced thin and salted until it weeps a yellow brine (magaya ooru), the slices are dried in the hot April sun until leathery, then mixed back into the brine with mustard powder, chilli and fenugreek and sealed under a tempering of gingelly oil. After a week the slices are chewy and soft, tangy and salty, with a rounder heat than avakaya. It is eaten with hot rice and a spoon of ghee, stirred into curd rice, or turned into a raita-like magaya pachadi with yoghurt; the leftover brine is mixed into plain rice. The salt is about 10% of the peeled mango weight (100 g per kg), which, with the fruit's own acid, keeps it safe. Common mistake: drying the slices to hard chips, or too little so they stay wet and mould; stop when they bend without snapping. It is ready when the slices have softened, turned deep red-orange and the oil floats on top. Chef's tip: no sun? A dehydrator or oven at 50 °C dries the slices in 6–8 hours.

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Bellam avakayaSweet raw mango pickle

In the Godavari districts of coastal Andhra, the same May afternoon that produces a jar of fiery avakaya usually produces a second jar of bellam avakaya for the children and anyone who likes it sweet. The mangoes are hacked into chunks with their skin and the hard shell of the stone still attached, then tossed with chilli, mustard powder, salt and plenty of grated jaggery. Over three or four days the jaggery melts into a dark, glossy syrup that clings to every piece. It tastes sweet first, then the mustard catches the nose and the chilli warms the back of the throat; the mango stays firm and sour. Eat it with pesarattu, dosa, chapati or curd rice. The salt is about 8% of the mango weight and the fruit is acidic, so it keeps all year under oil in a dry jar. Common mistake: cutting the mangoes wet or leaving sap and water on them; any moisture invites mould, so dry each piece with a cloth. It is ready when no jaggery grains remain and a film of oil rises to the top. Chef's tip: wipe off the milky sap at the stalk end before cutting; it stings the skin and tastes bitter.

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Pesara avakayaMoong dal mango pickle

Pesara avakaya is the Krishna and Guntur districts' answer for anyone who finds classic avakaya too sharp. It is cut and mixed in the same summer weeks, from the same sour mangoes, but finely ground raw yellow moong dal replaces most of the mustard. The dal swells in the mango juice and oil and turns the masala thick, nutty and almost creamy, so it clings to each piece, while a little mustard keeps a hint of nose-tingle. It is still properly hot from the chilli. Eat it with hot rice and ghee, with pesarattu, or alongside a plate of curd rice. Some families add garlic; if you do, the jar must live in the fridge. Common mistake: grinding the dal coarsely, which leaves a gritty masala; sift it and regrind the bits. Another is skimping on oil: the dal absorbs a lot, so top up until the pickle is covered. The salt is about 9% of the mango weight. It is ready after three days, when the masala is thick and clinging and oil has risen to the surface. Chef's tip: warm the dal in a dry pan for 2–3 minutes without colouring it; it grinds finer and keeps better.

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Menthi avakayaFenugreek mango pickle

In East Godavari kitchens menthi avakaya is the mango pickle for people who love bitterness: instead of a mustard-heavy masala, it is built on fenugreek seeds roasted until golden and ground, with red chilli, salt and a tempering of mustard seeds and asafoetida in gingelly oil. Families make it in the hottest weeks of May, when the mangoes are at their sourest, and it is traditionally eaten through the summer with hot rice, ghee and a dal. The fenugreek gives a toasty, almost maple-like aroma and a pleasant bitter edge that sits against the sour mango and the chilli heat. The salt is about 9% of the mango weight, and the pickle keeps for a year under oil in a dry jar. Common mistake: roasting the fenugreek too dark; it turns acrid, and that bitterness spreads through the whole jar. Roast it slowly until golden and fragrant, then let it cool before grinding. It is ready after two or three days, when the mango has darkened, the fenugreek smell has mellowed and oil sits on top. Chef's tip: grind the fenugreek only when completely cold, or it turns pasty and clumps.

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DosavakayaCucumber mustard pickle

Dosavakaya is the everyday pickle of Andhra homes: no waiting for mango season, just a round yellow dosakaya cubed with its skin on and tossed with mustard powder, chilli, salt, garlic and raw gingelly oil. It is made in minutes, often for Sunday lunch or to go with a festive meal, and eaten over the next few days with hot rice and ghee, pappu or curd rice. It is crunchy, juicy and mustard-sharp, hot and tangy, and the cubes give off a little juice that loosens the masala into a sauce. Dosakaya is sold in Indian grocers abroad; if you cannot find it, use a firm field cucumber, seeded, and add a little extra lemon juice for the missing tang. Because it contains raw garlic and cucumber, it is a fridge pickle: acidified with lemon and eaten within a week. Common mistake: using a bitter cucumber; taste a sliver from each end before you cut, and discard any that taste bitter. It is ready 2–3 hours after mixing, when the masala has turned glossy and the cubes taste seasoned through. Chef's tip: keep the skin on; it holds the crunch.

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Tomato oorugayaTomato and tamarind pickle

When tomatoes flood the Madanapalle and Kurnool markets in the hot months and prices drop, Andhra cooks turn them into this deep red oorugaya. Chopped tomatoes are salted and cooked down with tamarind until most of the water has gone, then simmered in sesame oil with chilli, garlic and a freshly roasted fenugreek-mustard powder. The texture is a thick, almost jammy paste; the taste is tangy, salty and hot, with the slight bitterness of methi lifting the sweetness of ripe tomato. Mash a spoonful into steaming rice with ghee, or serve it with dosa, upma and curd rice. The common mistake is stopping too early: if water is left in the paste the pickle will spoil within days. Keep cooking until the paste holds together, leaves the sides of the pan and the oil separates and shines on the surface. Because it has garlic and tomatoes are not as acidic as tamarind alone, store it in the fridge, where it keeps up to 2 months. Chef's tip: use firm, fully ripe country tomatoes rather than watery salad ones; you will cook for less time and get a richer colour.

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Maangai thokkuGrated raw mango pickle

Thokku is the Tamil word for a pickle cooked down to a thick, spoonable mass, and maangai thokku is the one every Tamil Nadu home makes in April and May when the hard, sour Kili mooku (parrot-beak) mangoes are cheap. Grated mango is simmered in nallennai (gingelly oil) with chilli powder, salt and hing until it turns dark, glossy and jam-like, then finished with roasted fenugreek powder. It is sour first, then hot, with a nutty sesame taste and a little bitterness at the end. It is a classic partner for curd rice, a spoonful inside a dosa, or a travel companion with idli and lemon rice for train journeys. The usual mistake is grating the mango too fine or stirring it too little: a fine pulp sticks and burns. Use the large holes of the grater and keep stirring once it thickens. It is done when the mango has darkened, comes away from the pan in one mass and the oil oozes out around the edge. Kept in a dry jar under a film of oil it lasts about 2 weeks in a cool cupboard and 2 months in the fridge. Chef's tip: a teaspoon of jaggery at the end rounds off very sour mangoes without making the thokku sweet.

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Aam ki launjiSweet and sour raw mango relish

In Rajasthan and across the Hindi belt, launji is the quick mango relish made the day the first raw mangoes come home in April, and it keeps appearing on the thali all through the scorching summer. Unlike the long-cured achaars, it is cooked in 20 minutes: mango pieces in mustard oil with saunf, kalonji, methi and cumin, then simmered with jaggery until glossy. The pieces stay soft but hold their shape in a thick, amber syrup that is sweet first, then sour, with a warm hum of chilli and a liquorice note from the fennel. Eat it with dal-baati, puri, paratha or plain khichdi; in the heat it is believed to cool the body. The common mistake is adding the jaggery too early, so it caramelises and turns bitter before the mango is tender; cook the mango first, then the jaggery. It is ready when the syrup coats the back of a spoon and the mango looks translucent at the edges. It thickens as it cools. Store in a clean jar in the fridge and eat within a week to 10 days. Chef's tip: leave a little peel on some pieces; it gives a pleasant chew and stops the mango from turning to mush.

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Kachi haldi ka acharFresh turmeric pickle

From December to February, fresh turmeric root turns up in heaps in the mandis of Jaipur, Jodhpur and Udaipur, bright orange inside and earthy-sweet. Rajasthani families eat it as a warming winter food, cooked in ghee as kachi haldi ki sabzi or, more simply, as this fresh pickle with ginger and green chilli. The slivers stay crisp and juicy; they taste peppery and slightly bitter, with sharp lemon and the nose-tingling bite of split mustard seed. It sits beside bajra roti, dal and a winter sabzi, and a few pieces with lunch is the whole point. The common mistake is cutting thick chunks: turmeric is fibrous, so slice it into matchsticks or thin coins so the lemon can soak in. It is ready to eat after 2 days, when the slivers have turned a shade softer and the juice has gone golden. Because it contains fresh ginger and chilli, keep it fully covered in the lemon juice and store it in the fridge, where it keeps for about 4 weeks. Wear gloves and use a steel or glass bowl, as turmeric stains wood, plastic and fingers for days. Chef's tip: pick plump, firm roots with smooth skin; wrinkled ones are dry and woody.

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Lehsun ka acharGarlic pickle

Rajasthani homes put up garlic pickle in the dry months after the new crop comes in, and it is the pickle that turns a plain plate of bajra roti and kadhi into a meal. Whole cloves sit in a coarse masala of saunf, methi, mustard, chilli and amchur bound with mustard oil; after a week they are mellow and tender-crisp, pungent and sour with a slight sweetness. Traditionally the jar matures in the sun for days, but garlic in oil at room temperature can carry botulism, so this version is adapted: the cloves are first soaked in lemon juice and vinegar for a day to make them properly acidic, and the pickle matures and lives in the fridge. Use vinegar of at least 5% acidity, never diluted. Don't worry if a few cloves turn blue-green; that is a harmless reaction between garlic and acid. The common mistake is skipping the acid soak to save time; do not. It is ready after a week, when the cloves have lost their raw burn and taste of the masala right through. Keep it in the fridge for up to a month. Chef's tip: choose small, firm desi garlic with tight skins; big soft cloves go limp in the acid.

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Tetul acharTamarind pickle

Ask anyone who grew up in Kolkata or a Bengal village about tetul achar and they will remember winter afternoons on the roof, sneaking spoonfuls from jars drying in the sun. Tamarind pulp is cooked down with jaggery, salt and a mustard-oil tempering of panch phoron and dried chilli until it turns sticky, dark and glossy. It tastes sweet and sour in one bite, with a little heat and the bittersweet crackle of fenugreek and nigella from the five-spice. Eat it as a teatime treat, with khichuri, or as the sweet-sour note at the end of a Bengali lunch. The common mistake is cooking it too hard: like toffee, tamarind and jaggery go from glossy to burnt quickly, so keep the heat low near the end and stir. It is ready when it falls from the spoon in a thick ribbon and leaves a trail across the pan; it firms up a lot as it cools. Being very sweet and acidic, it keeps 2 months in a dry jar in a cool cupboard and longer in the fridge. Chef's tip: in winter use khejur gur (date palm jaggery) for a smoky, caramel depth.

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Aam telMango pickle in mustard oil

In Bengal the summer of kal-baishakhi storms is also the season of aam tel, mango oil. Slices of hard green mango are salted and sun-dried until leathery, then sunk in mustard oil with roasted panch phoron and chilli and left to steep for a couple of weeks. The mango turns chewy, salty and sour; the oil turns golden, sharp and fruity, and that oil is the real treasure. A spoonful goes into jhalmuri (spiced puffed rice) on every Kolkata street corner, over plain rice with a fried egg or mashed potato, or into a bowl of panta bhat in the heat. The common mistake is not drying the mango enough: if it still feels wet when pressed, it will grow mould under the oil. Dry it until the slices are shrunken, leathery and bend without releasing juice. The pickle is ready when the oil has turned golden and smells strongly of mango and spice. Because the mango is salt-cured and acidic and stays fully under the oil in a dry jar, with no garlic, it keeps up to a year in a cool cupboard; in hot, humid weather keep it in the fridge. Chef's tip: no strong sun? Dry the salted slices in the oven at 60–70 °C with the door propped open, for 5–6 hours.

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Jolpai acharIndian olive pickle

Jolpai, the small, hard, sour Indian olive, appears in Bengal and Bangladesh markets from October to December, and no winter afternoon is complete without a jar of jolpai achar warming in the sun. It is no relation to the Mediterranean olive: it is tart and astringent, almost like a green plum. The olives are boiled, lightly crushed so the flesh splits from the stone, then cooked in mustard oil with panch phoron, dried chilli and plenty of jaggery. The pickle is sticky, sweet-sour and slightly tannic, with soft flesh to nibble off the stones. Eat it with khichuri on a cold evening, with dal-bhaat, or straight from the jar as a snack. The common mistake is under-boiling: the olives must be soft enough to press flat, or the syrup cannot get in and they stay bitter. It is done when the syrup is thick and shiny and clings to the olives. Very sweet and acidic, it keeps a month in a cool cupboard in winter and 3 months in the fridge. Abroad, look for frozen jolpai in Bangladeshi grocers; firm, sour green plums are the closest substitute. Chef's tip: keep a few olives whole and only scored; they give a nicer bite.

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Chalta acharElephant apple pickle

Chalta, the elephant apple, is a big green fruit of tightly wrapped, fleshy petals, and in Bengal it arrives in the markets in autumn, around Durga Puja, staying through early winter. Raw it is so sour and fibrous that it is almost impossible to eat, but cooked with jaggery and mustard it becomes one of the best-loved sweet-sour pickles of the region. The petals soften into chewy, slightly crunchy pieces in a thick, amber syrup, sour and sweet with a sharp kick of ground mustard and chilli. Serve it with dal and rice at the end of a meal, or with khichuri on a rainy day. The common mistake is skipping the pounding: after boiling, the pieces need a few firm knocks with a pestle to break the fibres, or they stay tough and never absorb the syrup. It is ready when the syrup coats a spoon and the chalta pieces look glossy and translucent. Keep it in a clean jar in the fridge for up to a month. Outside India, frozen chalta is sold in Bangladeshi grocers; hard, sour cooking apples with a squeeze of lime are a passable stand-in. Chef's tip: a pinch of ground mustard added at the very end gives the classic nose-tingling bite.

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Kannimanga acharBaby mango pickle

In central Kerala, around Thrissur and Kottayam, families watch the mango trees in January and February and pick the tiniest fruit, no bigger than a thumb joint, before the stone hardens. These kannimanga are salted whole in a tall ceramic bharani, left until shrivelled in their own brine, then mixed with freshly ground raw mustard, Kashmiri chilli and hing and left to mature for three or four weeks. This older, oil-free style keeps the mangoes crunchy and the brine thick, red and sinus-clearing from the raw mustard. The flavour is salty, sour and fiercely pungent; one mango and a spoon of brine is enough for a whole bowl of kanji (rice gruel) or curd rice. The common mistake is using water that has not been boiled and cooled, which brings in microbes and turns the brine slimy. It is ready when the mangoes are wrinkled but crisp and the brine tastes mellow rather than raw. Salt is high, about 20 g per 100 g of mango, and the fruit is very acidic; kept fully submerged in a dry jar it lasts a year in a cool place. Abroad, any tiny, hard green mango with a soft stone works. Chef's tip: keep a short stalk on each mango; it stops brine seeping in and softening the fruit.

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Vadukapuli naranga acharWild lime pickle

Vadukapuli naranga is a large, knobbly, thick-skinned wild lemon grown in Kerala backyards, and it is ripe just in time for Onam in August–September. Cut into small cubes with its spongy white pith and mixed with green chilli, ginger, chilli powder and a sesame-oil tempering, it becomes the pale yellow pickle dabbed on the end of every sadya banana leaf, next to inji puli and mango. It is sour, bitter and fresh at once, with juicy flesh and a soft, absorbent pith that soaks up the spices. It is just as welcome with curd rice or a simple moru curry. The common mistake is leaving the bitter seeds and the tough central core in; take them out or the whole jar turns harsh. It is ready to eat after a day, once the salt has drawn out the juice and the pieces look moist and slightly translucent. Because it has fresh ginger, green chilli and curry leaves, keep it in the fridge and eat within a month. Outside Kerala, use a citron or the biggest thick-skinned lemons you can find. Chef's tip: a spoon of vinegar sharpens the pickle and helps it keep; Kerala Christian homes often add one.

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Irumban puli acharBilimbi pickle

Almost every Kerala compound has an irumban puli tree, its trunk studded with clusters of small, cucumber-shaped green fruit so sour they make your eyes water. Through the monsoon months the tree fruits non-stop, and the surplus is salted and turned into this pickle. The bilimbi pieces soften into a tangy, juicy mass in a red masala of chilli, garlic and ginger cooked in gingelly oil, with roasted fenugreek giving a gentle bitterness. Eat it with kanji and payar (rice gruel and green gram), with a simple meal of rice, thoran and moru curry, or with chapati. The common mistake is cooking the fruit for too long: bilimbi is very watery and soft, and if stewed it breaks down to mush. Salt it first to draw out the water, then just warm it through in the masala for a couple of minutes. It is ready when the masala clings to the pieces and the oil glistens on top. Very acidic, but with fresh garlic and ginger, so store it in the fridge and use within a month. Abroad, use sour, green, unripe star fruit (its close relative) or green gooseberries. Chef's tip: dry the salted pieces in the sun for an afternoon for a firmer, chewier pickle.

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Pavakka acharBitter gourd pickle

Bitter gourd pickle is a speciality of Kerala's Syrian Christian kitchens in Kottayam and Thiruvalla, made through the year and always on the table at Christmas and wedding lunches. Thin rounds of pavakka are salted to tame the bitterness, fried until crisp at the edges, then tossed in a garlicky, ginger-sharp masala of Kashmiri chilli and vinegar cooked in gingelly oil. The pieces stay slightly crunchy and chewy, the masala is tangy and hot, and the bitterness is there but rounded off by a little sugar. Eat it with rice and moru curry, appam or chapati. The common mistake is under-frying: pale, soft pavakka goes soggy and spoils fast in the vinegar. Fry until the rounds are deep golden and the bubbling in the oil almost stops. The masala is ready when the oil separates and the vinegar's sharp smell has mellowed. Because it holds garlic and ginger in oil, the vinegar (at least 5% acidity, never diluted) and the fridge both matter: keep it chilled and eat within a month. Chef's tip: choose small, dark green Kerala pavakka with tight ridges; they are firmer and less watery than the big pale ones.

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Eenthapazham acharDate pickle

Date pickle came to Kerala with the Gulf, and in Malabar and central Travancore it has become a fixture at weddings, where it sits on the leaf beside the biriyani or the sadya rice. Pitted dates are simmered briefly in a gingelly-oil masala of garlic, ginger, green chilli and Kashmiri chilli, then loosened with vinegar and a little sugar. The dates stay plump and sticky, and the sauce is sweet, sour and gently hot all at once, like a spiced chutney with more punch. Serve it with ghee rice or biriyani, with chapati and a mild kurma, or tucked into a sandwich with cucumber. The common mistake is cooking the dates for too long so they dissolve into paste; add them at the end and warm them through for only a few minutes. It is ready when the masala is glossy and thick enough to cling to each date and the oil shines at the edges. With garlic and ginger in it, the vinegar (at least 5% acidity, undiluted) keeps it sharp, but it still belongs in the fridge: it keeps up to a month. Chef's tip: use soft, semi-dry dates rather than very sticky ones; they hold their shape and soak up the vinegar better.

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Keri no murabboSweet raw mango preserve

In Gujarat, when the summer stock of pickles goes up in May, murabbo is the gentle, sweet one that children are allowed to dip into freely. Pieces of firm raw mango (rajapuri or totapuri) are cooked slowly in sugar syrup until they turn translucent and glossy, then scented with saffron and cardamom. Unlike chhundo, which is grated and spiked with chilli, murabbo keeps the mango in distinct, tender-firm pieces in a clear, golden syrup; it tastes like candied fruit with a sour edge. Spread it on a warm thepla or rotli, serve it with khakhra at breakfast, or spoon a little beside a Gujarati thali. The common mistake is boiling the mango hard in the syrup, which breaks the pieces and clouds it; keep it at a gentle simmer. It is ready when the pieces look see-through at the edges and the syrup reaches one-string consistency (a cooled drop stretches into a single thread between finger and thumb). With this much sugar it keeps 6 months in a cool cupboard in a sterilised, dry jar, or longer in the fridge. Chef's tip: soak the cut mango in lightly salted water for 10 minutes first; it firms the pieces and stops browning.

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Chana methi nu athanuChickpea and fenugreek pickle

This is the thrifty, protein-rich pickle of Kathiawad and the Gujarati countryside, made in the May pickle season alongside methia keri. Brown chickpeas and fenugreek seeds are soaked until plump, then mixed with salted raw mango, split mustard, chilli and hing and sealed under oil. Over a few days the chana and methi drink up the sour mango juice and soften to a pleasant bite; the methi seeds lose most of their bitterness and turn nutty. The pickle is sour, hot and pungent, with plenty of crunch. A spoonful brightens khichdi-kadhi, bajra rotla or a plain dal-bhaat-shaak lunch. The common mistake is mixing in chickpeas that are still wet after soaking: dry them on a cloth for a few hours or the pickle will turn mouldy. It is ready in 4–5 days, when the chickpeas can be bitten through easily and taste sour all the way in. Because soaked pulses are low in acid, keep this one in the fridge once it is mixed, where it lasts up to 3 months, with the oil always covering the top. Chef's tip: use kala chana (small brown chickpeas); they stay firmer than large white ones.

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Gajar marcha nu athanuCarrot and chilli pickle

Every Gujarati thali, from Ahmedabad homes to Surat lunch houses, has a little bowl of something fresh and sharp to cut through the dal, kadhi and sweet shaak, and in the cold months it is very often this instant carrot and chilli athanu. Winter brings the sweet, deep red desi carrots and fat, mild bhavnagri chillies, and the pickle is mixed in ten minutes: sticks of both coated in split mustard seed, turmeric, hing, salt and lemon, then dressed with warm oil. It is crunchy, juicy and bright, with the nose-tingling pungency of rai kuria and a clean lemon tang. Eat it with rotli, thepla, khichdi or a full thali. The common mistake is pouring smoking-hot oil straight on, which cooks the mustard and makes it bitter; let the oil cool until just warm. It is ready when the mustard has softened and the carrots look glossy, about an hour after mixing, though it is good straight away. With fresh chilli and no long cure, keep it in the fridge and eat within a week. Chef's tip: if bhavnagri chillies are hard to find, use a mix of mild long green peppers and a couple of hot green chillies.

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Kerda nu athanuDesert berry pickle

Ker is a leafless desert shrub that grows wild across Kutch and the Thar, and in April and May, before the monsoon, it is covered in small green berries that families pick by hand. Fresh ker are fiercely bitter, so they are soaked and boiled until the bitterness fades, then pickled with split mustard, split fenugreek, chilli and lemon juice and covered in oil. The berries are firm, pea-sized and slightly chewy, with a sour, earthy, caper-like flavour under the mustard heat. In Kutch the pickle goes with bajra rotlo and buttermilk, or is mixed into khichdi; across Rajasthan the same berries go into ker sangri. The common mistake is rushing the soaking: if the water is not changed several times the pickle stays harsh. Taste a berry: it should be pleasantly sour-bitter, like an olive, not acrid. It is ready to eat after 3–4 days, once the berries have absorbed the lemon. Boiled ker are low in acid, so the lemon matters and the pickle lives in the fridge, where it keeps up to 2 months. Abroad, use dried ker from Indian grocers (they swell back well), or, at a pinch, capers soaked to remove the salt. Chef's tip: add a few cubes of raw mango in season for extra sourness.

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Tindora nu athanuIvy gourd pickle

In Gujarati homes from Surat to Rajkot, tindora nu athanu is the pickle you make on a Tuesday for the rest of the week, not the big summer jar. Thin sticks of tindora (ivy gourd) are tossed with rai na kuria (split mustard seed), salt, turmeric, a pinch of hing and lemon juice, then dressed with warm oil. By the next lunch the mustard has bloomed into a nose-tingling heat, the lemon has softened the raw edge and the sticks are still crunchy, a sharp counterpoint to dal-bhaat, khichdi or a plate of thepla. Choose firm, bright green tindora; once they turn red inside they go soft and seedy. Common mistake: pouring smoking-hot oil straight onto the kuria, which scorches it bitter; let the oil cool until just warm. It is ready when the sticks look slightly glossy and darker and a few drops of juice gather in the jar. Because it is fresh vegetable with little salt, it lives in the fridge and is best eaten within 7 days; throw it out if it smells rotten, turns slimy or grows any mould. Chef's tip: no kuria? Pound yellow mustard seeds coarsely in a mortar; you want cracked halves, not powder.

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Karonde ka acharKaronda berry pickle

When the thorny karonda bushes along Punjab and Rajasthan field edges fruit in July and August, the small green berries with rosy cheeks end up in jars of karonde ka achar. The fruit is very sour and slightly bitter-milky when raw, so it suits a bold mustard-oil pickle: halved berries and slit green chillies are salted, dried for a day, then tossed with crushed fennel, nigella, fenugreek and mustard. After a week the berries turn soft and sour-tangy, the chillies mellow, and the oil smells of saunf. Eat it with paratha, moong dal khichdi or a plain bowl of curd rice. Karonda is hard to find abroad; firm fresh cranberries are the closest substitute in sourness and size. Common mistake: skipping the drying day; wet fruit thins the oil and invites mould. It is ready when the berries yield to the teeth and the spice coat has darkened. Because it holds fresh green chillies under oil, keep this jar in the fridge for up to 2 months, berries always under oil, dry spoon every time; discard if you see mould, fizzing or an off smell. Chef's tip: wear gloves when halving karonda, the white latex is sticky and stains fingers.

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Kathal ka acharJackfruit pickle

In Lucknow, Kanpur and across Punjab, the hard green jackfruit that arrives in spring and early summer is cooked like meat in kathal ki sabzi, and the rest goes into a jar of kathal ka achar. The chunks are boiled until just tender, dried, then coated in a fierce mix of mustard oil, fennel, nigella, fenugreek and red chilli, sharpened with vinegar and dry mango powder. The texture is the surprise: firm, fibrous and almost meaty, soaking up spice like a sponge. It goes with puri-aloo at a Sunday breakfast or alongside rajma-chawal. Boiled jackfruit is a low-acid vegetable, so this version is deliberately acidified and lives in the fridge. Common mistake: boiling the jackfruit soft; it then breaks into mush in the jar. Stop when a knife meets slight resistance at the core. It is ready after 3 days, when the chunks have turned tawny all the way through and taste sour, not bland. Keep in the fridge for up to 1 month, under oil, with a dry spoon; discard if mould, fizzing, sliminess or a sour-rotten smell appear. Chef's tip: rub your knife and hands with oil before cutting raw jackfruit, or the sticky sap glues everything.

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Adrak ka acharGinger pickle

Walk into a Punjabi dhaba in winter and there is often a steel bowl of ginger matchsticks soaking in lemon juice beside the onion rings. Adrak ka achar is the simplest pickle of all: tender ginger, green chilli, salt and lemon, nothing cooked. Young ginger with thin, pinkish skin reacts with the acid and turns a pretty pale pink within a day; older ginger stays yellow but tastes just as good. The flavour is clean, hot and sour, with crunch, and a forkful cuts the richness of sarson ka saag, makki ki roti, chole bhature or a heavy dal makhani. Common mistake: cutting the ginger thick or using fibrous old roots, which stay woody and harsh; slice thin enough to see light through. It is ready when the ginger has softened slightly, the juice tastes less sharp and the slices have taken colour. Fresh ginger in lemon juice keeps in the fridge for up to 2 weeks; discard it if mould appears, the juice turns slimy or the smell turns from fresh-sour to musty. Chef's tip: a pinch of black salt (kala namak) added at the end gives it that dhaba-style sulphurous edge.

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Nadru acharLotus stem pickle

On the lakes around Srinagar, lotus stems are pulled up through the late autumn into winter and sold in muddy bundles at the floating market on Dal Lake. Kashmiri Pandit and Muslim households alike turn some of the harvest into nadru achar, a winter pickle eaten with rice, haakh (collard greens) and nadru yakhni when fresh vegetables are scarce. Thin slices are blanched, dried and dressed with mustard oil, ground fennel, sonth (dry ginger), deep-red Kashmiri chilli and vinegar. The result is crunchy rather than soft, earthy and lacy, with a warm, slightly smoky heat. Common mistake: not washing the hollow channels; mud hides inside, so rinse every slice under running water. Lotus stem grows in lake water and must always be cooked before pickling; never pickle it raw. It is ready when the slices have taken the red colour right into the holes and taste sour through, about 2 days. Keep it in the fridge for up to 1 month, under oil, with a dry spoon; discard if you see mould, fizzing or slime, or smell anything rotten. Chef's tip: buy stems that are pale cream and closed at both ends; open ends let mud in.

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Lingad ka acharFiddlehead fern pickle

In Kullu, Mandi and Kangra, the monsoon brings lingad, the curled young shoots of the vegetable fern that grows along streams and terrace edges. Villagers pick them in the morning and sell them by the bundle; what is not stir-fried with potato goes into a small jar of pickle to stretch the short season. The shoots are blanched, dressed with mustard oil, crushed mustard seed, red chilli and lemon, and the result is green, crisp and faintly like asparagus with a nutty mustard heat. It is eaten with siddu, rice and madra, or simply with a hot roti. Outside the Himalaya, use ostrich fern fiddleheads, which appear in spring in North America and Europe. Fern shoots must always be cooked; raw or undercooked fiddleheads can upset the stomach badly. Common mistake: only flash-blanching them; boil for the full time. It is ready after a night in the fridge, when the coils have dulled to olive and taste tangy. Keep it in the fridge for up to 10 days; discard if you see mould, slime or smell anything off. Chef's tip: rub off the brown papery scales between your palms under running water before you weigh them.

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MiscutRaw mango pickle

Before the monsoon breaks over Goa in late May, the first small, tender mangoes are knocked from the trees in Salcete and Bardez villages and cut for miscut, the pickle Goan Catholic families keep for the rainy months when fishing stops and the table relies on rice, curry and preserves. Unlike Gujarati pickles, miscut leans on toddy or cane vinegar: the mango is salted overnight, then folded into a paste of Kashmiri chilli, mustard, fenugreek, turmeric, garlic and ginger ground in vinegar, and finished with oil. It is sour, hot and garlicky, the mango still crisp, and a spoonful brightens a plate of red rice and dried-fish curry or a simple pez (rice gruel). Common mistake: grinding the masala in water; it must be vinegar only, or the pickle spoils. It is ready after 4–5 days, when the vinegar has soaked into the mango and the raw-garlic bite has gone. Because it contains fresh garlic and ginger, keep it in the fridge for up to 3 months, always covered by liquid, dry spoon each time; discard if you see mould, fizzing, sliminess or smell anything off. Chef's tip: use mangoes whose stones have not yet hardened so you can slice straight through.

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Chinese bhelCrispy noodle bhel

Mumbai's Indo-Chinese carts, parked outside colleges in Dadar and Matunga from late afternoon, sell this street invention that borrows the idea of bhel and swaps the puffed rice for golden fried noodles. Raw shredded cabbage, carrot and capsicum are thrown in with Schezwan sauce, ketchup, a dash of soy and vinegar, and tossed so fast the noodles still crackle when you eat them. Chef's tip: dry the boiled noodles thoroughly on a tray before frying; wet noodles spit and fry up chewy rather than crisp.

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Bhel puri

On Girgaum and Juhu Chowpatty the bhelwalas set up as the sun drops into the Arabian Sea, and bhel puri is what Mumbai eats while it walks along the sand. Puffed rice, crushed flat puris and boiled potato are tossed in a steel bowl with sweet tamarind and fiery green chutneys, then buried under fine sev and handed over in a folded paper cone with a puri for a spoon. It is crunchy, sweet, sour and hot all at once, and it has to be eaten within minutes. Chef's tip: lay out every component before you start, because the mixing takes thirty seconds and the crunch only lasts about five minutes.

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ChurmurCrushed puchka chaat

When you have eaten your fill of puchka at the stalls in Vivekananda Park or outside Gariahat market in the evening, the puchkawala will make you a churmur: the same crisp shells crushed into the same spicy potato filling with tamarind water, onion and coriander, served in a leaf bowl. It is part chaat, part crunchy salad, and puckeringly sour. Chef's tip: crush the shells into big shards, not crumbs, and fold them in last so some stay crisp.

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Club kachoriSmall spiced kachoris

In the narrow lanes of Burrabazar and Bowbazar, sweet shops start frying club kachori before eight in the morning for traders and office-goers, who eat four or five standing up with a ladle of thin, gingery potato curry poured into a sal-leaf bowl. The kachoris are small and puffed like balloons, with a thin layer of peppery ground urad dal inside the crust. Chef's tip: soak the dal ahead (from the night before is easiest) and grind it with almost no water, so the paste is thick enough to roll without breaking through.

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Lebu chaBlack tea with lime

Along College Street and around Esplanade, the tea sellers who pour lebu cha into little unglazed clay cups (bhaar) are the fuel of Kolkata's famous evening adda, the long arguments over books and football. It is weak black tea, sweetened, sharpened with fresh lime and finished with a pinch of sulphurous black salt and roasted cumin, so it tastes sweet, sour and faintly savoury. It is drunk hot in every season and the cup is thrown away. Chef's tip: steep the tea briefly; long-brewed tea plus lime turns harsh and astringent.

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Kulle chaatStuffed cucumber chaat

Kulle chaat comes from the lanes of Chandni Chowk around Chawri Bazar, where a couple of old stalls carve fruit and vegetables into little cups and fill them with chickpeas, pomegranate and lime. It is the cooling chaat of Delhi's scorching summer afternoons: no frying, no yoghurt, just juicy, crunchy cups dusted with chaat masala and black salt. Children love picking them up whole. Chef's tip: season the inside of each empty cup with lime and chaat masala before filling, so every bite is tangy right through.

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Moong dal pakodeMoong dal fritters

When the monsoon breaks over Delhi, the pakora stalls of Lajpat Nagar and the lanes off Chandni Chowk do their best trade, and moong dal pakode are the favourite: light, airy balls of soaked and coarsely ground yellow lentils, fried until crunchy and served in paper plates with grated white radish and green chutney. They are naturally gluten free and vegan. Chef's tip: beat the ground batter hard with your hand for a few minutes; the trapped air is what makes them fluffy inside.

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Lucknowi matar chaatWhite pea chaat

In Aminabad and around the Chowk in old Lucknow, matar chaat is ladled hot out of huge brass handis that sit on embers all evening, especially through the cold months. Dried white peas are cooked until they collapse into a creamy, soupy mass, then each leaf bowl is topped with shredded ginger, green chilli, raw onion, lime, roasted spices and a trickle of sweet tamarind chutney. It is warming, sour and gently hot. Chef's tip: cook the peas until a good number break down; that creamy liquid is what makes it Lucknowi.

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OlanAsh gourd and cowpea stew

Olan is the quietest dish on a Travancore sadya leaf, the banana-leaf feast served in southern Kerala for Onam, weddings and temple festivals. Thin, glassy slices of ash gourd and soft red cowpeas sit in coconut milk with nothing louder than green chilli and curry leaves, and its job is to cool the palate between the tangy, fiery curries around it. The flavour comes from coconut milk added in two stages and a spoonful of raw coconut oil poured over at the end. Eat it with plain rice, or ladle it beside appam on an ordinary weekday. Chef's tip: slice the ash gourd as thin as a coin so it turns translucent in the time the coconut milk takes to thicken.

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ErisseryPumpkin and cowpea curry

Erissery is the golden, slightly sweet pumpkin dish of the Onam sadya in Kerala, and a favourite in homes all through the harvest season when the yellow mathanga pumpkins are piled up in the markets. Soft pumpkin and red cowpeas are bound with a coconut, cumin and green chilli paste, and the whole pot is crowned with grated coconut fried in coconut oil until it turns the colour of cinnamon. That crunchy, nutty topping is what makes it erissery. Serve with rice and parippu, or scoop it up with chapati. Chef's tip: keep the pumpkin pieces large so some stay whole while others melt into the sauce.

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Pazham poriBanana fritters

Pazham pori is what the glass cases of Kerala's roadside tea shops are full of at four in the afternoon: long slices of ripe nendran banana dipped in a sweet batter and fried in coconut oil until puffed and golden. Bite through the crisp, slightly chewy coat and the banana inside is soft, hot and honeyed. People eat them standing at the counter with a glass of frothy, milky chaya, or carry a paper parcel home for the family. Chef's tip: wait until the nendran skins are mostly black; the banana must be fully ripe to turn creamy when fried.

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PehakFermented soybean and chilli chutney

Pehak is the Apatani chutney of the Ziro valley in Arunachal Pradesh: fermented soybean pounded with roasted chillies, ginger and salt into a thick, pungent paste. It goes with nearly every meal, a little at a time, with rice, boiled vegetables or millet. It is savoury, salty and very hot, and it keeps for weeks. Chef's tip: dry-roast the fermented soybean briefly before pounding; it mellows the sharp smell and brings out a toasty depth. Natto or Naga axone work if you can't get local soybean.

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Kerala banana chips

Upperi, the yellow raw-banana chips of Kerala, are fried in huge cauldrons in the snack shops of Kozhikode and Thrissur and handed round in bags at every Onam sadya, where they are one of the first things laid on the leaf. Green nendran bananas are sliced straight into hot coconut oil, and a splash of salted water goes in at the end, so the salt clings to every chip. The result is crisp, golden and faintly sweet, with that unmistakable coconut-oil smell. Chef's tip: rub a little oil on your hands before peeling the bananas; the sap stains skin and is very hard to wash off.

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KootuVegetable and moong dal stew

Kootu sits halfway between a dal and a vegetable dish, and in Tamil homes it is the mild, kind side on a lunch plate next to a sharp rasam or a fiery kuzhambu. Chopped vegetables such as chow-chow, snake gourd, cabbage or pumpkin are cooked with moong dal until soft, then thickened with a paste of fresh coconut, cumin and a little green chilli. It's the dish many Tamil grandmothers give children and anyone recovering from a fever. Spoon it over rice with ghee or serve it alongside sambar and poriyal. Chef's tip: grind the coconut paste with the cumin raw, not toasted; the fresh, sweet cumin flavour is what makes kootu taste like kootu.

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Gongura pachadiSorrel leaf chutney

Gongura, the sour leaf of the roselle plant, is so central to Andhra cooking that it's called the state's own vegetable, and gongura pachadi is its best-known form. The leaves are fried in oil until they melt, then pounded with roasted red chillies, garlic, coriander seeds and fenugreek, and finished with a mustard tempering. It's intensely tangy, hot and garlicky, and in Guntur and Vijayawada homes a spoonful is mixed into hot rice with ghee or eaten with jowar rotte. It keeps in the fridge for a couple of weeks. Chef's tip: fry the leaves until all their water cooks off and they turn dark olive; any moisture left shortens how long the pachadi keeps.

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Surti ponk vadaGreen sorghum fritters

Every December and January, farms around Surat roast bundles of young green jowar heads over embers and thresh out ponk, soft, sweet, pale-green grains that last only a few weeks. Surtis turn the trip into a picnic, eating ponk by the handful with lemon-pepper sev and garlic chutney, then frying the leftovers into these crunchy vada. The grains are crushed coarsely with chilli and ginger, bound with a little gram and rice flour, and fried until the outside is lacy and crisp while the inside stays tender and grassy-sweet. Look for frozen ponk in Gujarati grocers outside the season. Chef's tip: crush the ponk only roughly; whole grains popping through the crust is what makes these vada special.

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ChakhwiJackfruit seed and papaya stew

Chakhwi is a Tripuri festive stew cooked at weddings and family feasts around Agartala, where the defining ingredient is 'khar' or soda, made by filtering water through banana-plant ash. It softens vegetables and gives a smooth, gently alkaline taste. Pork chakhwi is the best known; the vegetarian version is cooked with raw papaya, jackfruit seeds, bamboo shoot and long beans, with ginger and green chilli. It is soupier than Assamese khar and has no lentils. Chef's tip: use bicarbonate of soda if you have no ash water, but only a pinch; you should be able to taste it, not feel it.

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AvakayaRaw mango pickle

Every April and May, when the hard, sour green mangoes arrive, Andhra homes turn into pickle factories. The mangoes are cut, stone and all, with a heavy cleaver, then mixed with freshly ground mustard, fiery red chilli powder, salt and a flood of sesame oil, and packed into ceramic jars to mature. Avakaya is fierce, pungent, salty and sour, and a tiny piece mashed into hot rice with ghee and dal is many Telugu people's idea of perfect lunch. A jar lasts the whole year. Chef's tip: every piece of mango, every knife and the jar must be bone dry; a single drop of water can turn a whole batch mouldy.

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Amritsari aloo wadiyanPotato and lentil dumpling curry

Every winter, rooftops in Amritsar's old city are covered with trays of wadiyan: little cones of spiced urad-dal paste studded with black pepper and dried in the sun until rock hard. Punjabi homes break them into chunks, fry them until they smell nutty, and simmer them with potatoes in a mustard-oil gravy. The wadiyan soften into chewy, spicy, almost meaty pieces, and the potatoes soak up their pepper. It is everyday comfort food, eaten with hot phulkas or rice and a raw onion on the side. Chef's tip: wadiyan are already salted and spiced, so add salt only at the end, after tasting.

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Monji haakKohlrabi and greens in mustard oil

Kohlrabi, monji in Kashmiri, grows in almost every kitchen garden in the Kashmir Valley, and families cook the round bulb and its leaves together in one pot. Like its cousin haak, it is a dish of very few ingredients: mustard oil, dried chilli, a pinch of asafoetida and salt, simmered with a splash of water until the bulb turns sweet and tender. It is eaten through the cold months with plain rice and a bowl of yogurt, and Kashmiris will tell you it tastes best in autumn when the bulbs are young. Chef's tip: buy kohlrabi with fresh, perky leaves attached; if the leaves are tired, add a handful of spinach instead.

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KafuliSpinach and fenugreek curry

In the villages of Garhwal, kafuli is what goes into the iron kadhai when the terraces are full of palak and methi in late winter. The greens are blanched, ground roughly on a stone and simmered with a spoonful of soaked rice paste, which turns the curry silky without any cream. Mustard oil and a few dried chillies give it a sharp, warm edge, and the iron pan darkens it to a deep forest green. Eat it with mandua ki roti or plain rice and a dab of ghee for those who want it. Chef's tip: grind the greens in short pulses so you can still see flecks of leaf; kafuli should have texture, not look like a smooth soup.

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KhambirLeavened wholewheat bread

Khambir is the everyday bread of Ladakh: a thick, round wholewheat loaf with a dent pressed into the middle, browned on a griddle and finished in the heat of the kitchen stove. In homes in Leh and Kargil it appears at breakfast, torn into chunks and dipped into salty butter tea, or spread with apricot jam made from the region's dried apricots. The crust is chewy and toasty, the inside dense and slightly sour. Bakers in Leh's old town still sell it warm in the mornings. Chef's tip: let the dough rise until truly doubled; under-risen khambir is heavy and gummy in the middle.

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Patodi rassaGram flour squares in spicy gravy

Patodi rassa (also called patwadi rassa) comes from the dry, hot districts of Vidarbha around Nagpur and Amravati, where gram flour often takes the place of vegetables. Gram flour is cooked thick like a polenta, spread on a plate, scattered with coconut, sesame and poppy seeds and cut into squares. Just before eating, the squares go into bowls and a spicy, thin rassa of roasted onion and dry coconut is poured over them so they soak it up. It's a dish for a Sunday lunch or a wedding feast in the region, served with jowar bhakri or chapatis and rice. Chef's tip: pour the rassa over the patodi at the table, not in the pot; simmered together, the squares fall apart.

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KhatkhatemMixed vegetable and dal stew

Khatkhatem is the vegetable stew Goan Hindu families cook for Ganesh Chaturthi and wedding feasts, when onion and garlic are kept out of the kitchen. It takes whatever the monsoon garden gives: pumpkin, sweet potato, raw banana, corn on the cob, drumsticks, yam and the long Goan cucumber, simmered with a little toor dal in a ground paste of coconut, red chillies and coriander seeds. The flavour comes from tirphal, a dried berry from the Western Ghats with a woody, citrusy, slightly numbing bite. Serve it with rice and a crisp papad as part of the festive spread. Chef's tip: add the vegetables in stages, hardest first; khatkhatem should have every vegetable tender but whole, not a mush.

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Til pithaSesame rice rolls

Til pitha is the essential sweet of Magh Bihu, the January harvest festival, when Assamese homes stay up late around the fire, frying and toasting. Fresh flour of soaked bora (sticky) rice is spread thin on a hot pan into a round, filled with roasted black sesame and jaggery and rolled into a cigar while still soft; it crisps as it cools. Tins of til pitha are carried to every house visited during Bihu. Chef's tip: the flour must be freshly ground from soaked sticky rice and still slightly damp; dry shop rice flour won't fuse into a sheet.

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Kothimbir vadiCoriander and gram flour fritters

When the winter coriander in the Nashik markets comes in huge, fragrant bunches for a few rupees, Maharashtrian kitchens make kothimbir vadi. A batter that is mostly fresh coriander, held together with gram flour and sesame, is steamed into a cake, cut into squares, then shallow-fried until each piece has a crunchy shell and a soft, herby middle. It's a tea-time snack in Pune homes, a side on the festive thali and a favourite in tiffin boxes because it's good at room temperature. Serve with green chutney or tomato ketchup. Chef's tip: dry the coriander well after washing; wet leaves make the batter loose and the vadi soggy.

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Raja mircha chutneyGhost pepper chutney

Raja mircha, the king chilli or bhut jolokia, is grown in the hills around Kohima and Dimapur and was once ranked the hottest chilli in the world. Naga households pound it with tomatoes smoked in the embers, ginger, garlic and salt into a thick red chutney that is fruity, smoky and ferociously hot. It is eaten in tiny amounts with rice and boiled vegetables, and at the Hornbill Festival there are eating contests. Chef's tip: one king chilli is plenty for this amount; wear gloves, open the window when roasting, and keep the seeds if you are brave.

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Ou khattaElephant apple chutney

Ou tenga, the elephant apple, is a hard, sour green fruit that grows across Assam and turns up in every winter market in Guwahati. Ou khatta is its sweet chutney: slices are boiled until tender, then simmered with jaggery and panch phoron until glossy, sticky and sharp-sweet. It is served in a little mound at the end of a festive Assamese lunch and at Bihu feasts, the way Bengalis end with tomato chutney. Chef's tip: outside the Northeast, use a mix of very sour green apple and a little tamarind; it gets surprisingly close.

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GalhoRice and vegetable porridge

Galho is Nagaland's comfort food, a soft, loose rice porridge cooked with seasonal vegetables, greens, ginger and chilli, sometimes thickened with a spoon of fermented soybean (axone). In Kohima homes it is the dish for cold evenings and for anyone unwell, and in restaurants it is often made with pork; this vegetarian version uses mushrooms and axone for savour. It sits somewhere between khichdi and congee, thick but spoonable. Chef's tip: stir only occasionally; galho should be soupy with distinct grains, not a smooth paste.

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KharRaw papaya and lentil dish

Every traditional Assamese lunch begins with khar, a mouthful of it mixed into the first ball of rice to settle the stomach. The defining ingredient is khar itself, an alkaline liquid filtered from the ash of dried bhim kol (seeded banana) peels; it gives the dish its soft, slightly soapy, earthy taste. Raw papaya and a handful of lentils are cooked in it with mustard oil, garlic and green chilli until silky. At home in Guwahati or Jorhat it is made several times a week. Chef's tip: outside Assam, use a small pinch of bicarbonate of soda in place of khar; too much tastes metallic, so start with ⅛ tsp.

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Morok metpaRoasted chilli and onion mash

Morok metpa is the chilli relish on every Manipuri table, from Imphal homes to roadside eateries: fresh chillies roasted over the fire until blistered, then crushed with salt, raw onion and herbs. Many versions add ngari (fermented fish); the vegetarian one here gets its depth from charring the chillies and a little roasted garlic. A teaspoon of it lifts plain rice, kangshoi or boiled vegetables. Chef's tip: roast the chillies directly over a flame until the skins are black in patches; charred skin is where the flavour is.

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SingjuCabbage and lotus stem salad

Singju is Imphal's favourite evening snack, sold from stalls at Khwairamband market and Thangal Bazar: a pile of finely shredded cabbage, lotus stem, banana flower, onion and fresh herbs, tossed with roasted chilli and toasted gram flour. Most stalls add a little ngari (fermented fish); vegetarian Meitei homes skip it and use extra roasted perilla or sesame and toasted gram flour, which give a nutty, savoury depth. It is crunchy, hot and herby. Chef's tip: shred everything as thinly as you can, almost like hair; the dressing clings better.

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Mirchi vadaPotato-stuffed chilli fritters

In Jodhpur, the day often begins at a roadside kadhai: huge, mild green chillies stuffed with spiced potato, coated in gram-flour batter and fried until golden and blistered, then eaten hot with sweet milky chai. Stalls near the Clock Tower and Sardar Market make them all day, and during the monsoon the queues grow longer. The chilli adds a fresh, green bite more than heat, and the filling is tangy with amchur and fennel. A common mistake is frying in oil that is not hot enough, which makes the batter heavy and oily. Chef's tip: fry each vada once until pale gold, rest it for a few minutes, then fry it again for 1 minute just before serving—this is the stall trick for a crust that stays crisp.

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Neer dosaThin rice crepes

Neer means water in Tulu and Kannada, and that is the whole idea: a batter as thin as milk, poured onto a hot pan where it sets into a soft, lacy crêpe full of tiny holes. In Mangaluru and Udupi homes it is made fresh for breakfast or a Sunday lunch, folded into quarters and eaten warm with coconut chutney, a vegetable sagu, or simply with grated coconut and jaggery for children. Unlike most dosas, the batter is not fermented, so you can soak rice in the morning and eat by lunchtime. The crêpes are pale white, never browned, and should be tender enough to fold without cracking. Chef's tip: stir the batter from the bottom before every single dosa; the rice settles within a minute, and a batter poured from the top runs too thin and tears.

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Sattu sharbatRoasted gram flour drink

On scorching May afternoons in Patna, handcarts with steel pots and heaps of lemons sell sattu sharbat by the glass: roasted gram flour whisked into cold water with black salt, roasted cumin, lemon and a bit of raw onion and chilli. It is filling enough to stand in for lunch and is the drink rickshaw pullers and farm workers swear by to beat the loo, the hot summer wind. It tastes savoury, nutty and sharp all at once. Chef's tip: whisk the sattu into a little water first to a smooth paste, then dilute it; tipping it straight into a full glass leaves dry lumps.

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Dal pithaLentil-stuffed rice dumplings

Dal pitha is the comfort food of Bihari winters, made on cold evenings and around Makar Sankranti: soft rice-flour dough wrapped around a coarse filling of chana dal, garlic, ginger and chilli, shaped into half-moons or little pouches and cooked in steam. People in Mithila call it a Bihari momo, and it is eaten hot with tomato chutney or a dribble of mustard oil. The dough tastes gently of rice, the filling is savoury and filling, and leftovers are excellent pan-fried the next day. Chef's tip: knead the rice dough while it is still hot; if it cools before shaping, the pitha crack and the filling leaks out.

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Bore baasiSoaked rice with onion

Bore baasi is the summer meal of Chhattisgarh's farmers: cooked rice soaked in water, either for a few hours (bore) or overnight (baasi), then eaten from the bowl with its slightly sour water, raw onion, green chilli and a pinch of salt. It is cooling, filling and easy on the stomach in the heat, and in recent years the state has made 1 May, Labour Day, the day to eat it as Bore Baasi Tihar. Many families add a ladle of buttermilk or curd and something fried or roasted on the side. Food safety matters with any cooked rice left standing, so this version cools the rice fast and soaks it in the fridge. Chef's tip: cool and cover the rice within an hour of cooking; rice left warm on the counter is the real risk, not the soaking.

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FaraSteamed rice dough fingers

Fara is what a Chhattisgarhi kitchen does with yesterday's rice: it is kneaded with rice flour and hot water into a soft dough, rolled into little fingers, steamed and then tossed in a crackling tadka. Served at teatime or packed for long bus journeys, it is soft and chewy inside with spots of crispness from the pan. Some families spoon it into a thin, tangy curry instead, but the dry tempered version is the one sold in Raipur's snack corners. Chef's tip: knead the dough while it is still hot from the water; cold rice dough cracks and the fara split as they steam.

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Kathal ki sabziYoung jackfruit curry

In Uttar Pradesh, people joke that kathal is the vegetarian's mutton, and the comparison makes sense once you taste it. Young, unripe jackfruit has a firm, fibrous texture that absorbs a slow-cooked onion masala and the smoky warmth of black cardamom. Lucknow and Kanpur homes cook it in summer when the green fruit is plentiful, and it is a common choice for Sunday lunches and family gatherings, served with paratha or rice. The mistake to avoid is undercooking the jackfruit before adding it to the masala; it will remain rubbery no matter how long it simmers afterward. Chef's tip: frying the boiled pieces until golden before they go into the gravy gives them a meaty crust that holds up in the sauce.

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Koat pithaBanana and rice flour fritters

Koat pitha is Mizoram's favourite tea-time snack, sold in Aizawl's bakeries and street stalls and fried at home whenever bananas go soft: mashed ripe banana is mixed with rice flour and jaggery into a thick batter and fried in spoonfuls until crisp, brown and puffed. Inside they are soft and sticky-sweet. They are served at church gatherings and with red tea on wet afternoons. Chef's tip: the riper the bananas the better; spotted, almost black ones give the most flavour and sweetness.

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KangshoiClear vegetable stew

Kangshoi is the everyday stew of the Imphal Valley: seasonal vegetables simmered in water with ginger, onion and chilli, and finished with a fistful of fresh herbs such as maroi (a garlic chive), coriander and mint. It is light, clear and brothy, eaten with rice at almost every Meitei meal. Many households add dried fish or ngari (fermented fish) for depth; Vaishnav Meitei homes leave it out, and this vegetarian version relies on toasted chilli and plenty of herbs instead. Chef's tip: cook it without oil, as Manipuris do; the clean broth is the point.

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PukhleinFried rice flour and jaggery cakes

Pukhlein are the sweet treats of Khasi tea stalls and celebrations in Meghalaya: a batter of rice flour and jaggery fried into round, puffed cakes that are crisp and caramelised on the outside and chewy within. They are made for Christmas and family gatherings and are sold at Shillong's Iewduh (Bara Bazaar) with red tea. They taste a little like a cross between a doughnut and an Indian anarsa. Chef's tip: rest the batter for at least an hour; the rice flour hydrates and the cakes puff instead of spreading.

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PumaloiSteamed rice cakes

Pumaloi is the everyday breakfast of the Khasi Hills: coarse powdered rice, lightly moistened, packed into a tall steamer (traditionally a bamboo or metal 'khiew') and steamed into a soft, crumbly cake. In Shillong it is sold warm at morning stalls with a cup of sweet tea, and at home it is served with tungrymbai, a vegetable stew or a chilli chutney. It is plain on purpose, like Kerala's puttu but drier and lighter. Chef's tip: the flour should feel like damp sand, holding a shape when squeezed but crumbling easily; any wetter and the cake goes gluey.

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TungrymbaiFermented soybean with sesame and ginger

Tungrymbai is the Khasi Hills' great fermented food: soybeans boiled, wrapped in leaves and left by the hearth until sticky and pungent, then cooked with onion, ginger, garlic, turmeric and a generous paste of roasted black sesame. In Shillong's markets and local eateries (jadoh stalls), it is often cooked with pork, but many Khasi homes make it with soybeans alone, which is the version here. It is dark, nutty and savoury, eaten in small spoonfuls with rice. Chef's tip: roast the black sesame until it just begins to pop; underroasted it tastes grassy, overroasted it turns bitter. Natto works if you can't get tungrymbai.

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Darjeeling first flush tea

Darjeeling's first flush is picked in March and April on estates clinging to the hills above the town, and in Darjeeling's tea rooms it is served plain: pale gold, flowery and slightly astringent, with a 'muscatel' note in the later second flush. It is the opposite of a strong breakfast tea, so it is never boiled, stewed or given milk. Hill families drink it from morning till dusk, and it is a souvenir every visitor buys from Chowrasta. Chef's tip: use water just off the boil (about 90°C) and time the brew; overheated or overbrewed first flush turns bitter and loses its scent.

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Dalle chutneyRound chilli and tomato chutney

Dalle khursani is Sikkim's round, cherry-sized chilli, grown in every hill garden and among the hottest chillies in India. No meal in Gangtok goes without a little bowl of dalle achar beside the rice or momos. This fresh version pounds the chillies with blistered tomato, garlic, a pinch of timur (Sichuan-type pepper) and lemon into a coarse red chutney that is searingly hot, sharp and fruity. Eat it by the dot. Chef's tip: wear gloves when cutting dalle, and never touch your eyes; the heat stays on your hands for hours. Use a mix of habanero and bird's-eye chillies if you can't get dalle.

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Kinema curryFermented soybean curry

Kinema is the Limbu and Nepali fermented soybean of Sikkim and the Darjeeling hills: boiled soybeans wrapped in leaves and left by the hearth for a couple of days until sticky and pungent. Cooked with onion, tomato, turmeric and fiery dalle or green chilli, it becomes a thick, savoury curry eaten with rice in Gangtok and Kalimpong homes, especially in winter. It is rich in protein and has a deep, almost meaty savour. Chef's tip: dry-fry the kinema before adding the masala; it tames the smell and brings out a toasted flavour. Outside the hills, Japanese natto is the closest substitute.

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Narikol laruCoconut and jaggery balls

Narikol laru are the small, chewy coconut balls that sit next to til pitha on every Bihu plate in Assam, offered to visitors with tea and jolpan. Fresh coconut is cooked with jaggery until it binds, flavoured with cardamom and rolled warm. They are soft and moist, not dry like desiccated-coconut ladoos, and are made in big batches the night before the festival. Chef's tip: roll them while still warm with damp palms; once cold, the mixture won't hold.

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Kol posolaBanana stem stir-fry

Kol posola is the pale inner core of the banana plant, chopped and cooked down with mustard oil, ginger and green chilli until it is soft, juicy and faintly sweet. In Assamese villages, where banana plants grow in every yard, it is cheap everyday food, and it is also a favourite on Bihu tables and in Assamese thalis in Guwahati restaurants. It has a mild, cucumber-like flavour and is prized as a cooling, cleansing food. Chef's tip: as you chop the stem, twirl a finger or a skewer through the slices to catch and pull away the fine fibres; otherwise they stay stringy.

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Hyderabadi khatti dalTangy tamarind dal

Khatti dal, 'sour dal', is the everyday dal of Hyderabad's old city, cooked in Muslim and Telugu homes alike and ladled over plain rice with a fried papad and a dry vegetable on the side. Toor dal is cooked with tomato and green chilli, mashed smooth, soured with tamarind and finished with a sizzling bagaar of garlic, dried red chillies, cumin and curry leaves. It is thinner and sharper than a north Indian dal, and on Fridays it often sits next to a biryani as the comforting partner. Chef's tip: let the garlic in the bagaar turn properly golden before pouring it over; pale garlic tastes raw and harsh in a sour dal.

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ChitrannaLemon rice

Chitranna, 'colourful rice', is the dish Karnataka mothers make when there is leftover rice and a school tiffin box to fill: cooked rice tossed in a yellow turmeric tempering with roasted peanuts, crunchy dals, green chilli, curry leaves and plenty of lemon. It appears at temple festivals as prasada, on train journeys wrapped in banana leaf, and on every Bengaluru darshini breakfast counter. It tastes even better an hour after it's made, when the lemon has soaked in. Tamil Nadu's elumichai sadam is a close cousin. Chef's tip: spread the rice out on a plate to cool before mixing; warm, steamy rice turns sticky and breaks when you toss it.

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PatoleoRice dumplings in turmeric leaves

In August, when the monsoon makes turmeric leaves grow tall in Goan backyards, families make patoleo. Catholic households steam them for the Feast of the Assumption on 15 August, and Hindu families make the same sweet, called patoli, for Nag Panchami and Ganesh Chaturthi. A thin layer of rice paste is spread on a turmeric leaf, filled with fresh coconut and dark Goan jaggery, folded and steamed. The leaf leaves a sweet, gingery perfume on the rice that nothing else can copy, so look for fresh turmeric leaves in Indian grocers; banana leaves are a fair substitute. Chef's tip: spread the rice paste as thin as you can while still covering the leaf; thick patoleo are stodgy and the filling gets lost.

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Ragi mudde with bassaruFinger millet balls with dal broth

In the villages around Mandya, Mysuru and Hassan, the farmers' lunch is ragi mudde: steaming balls of finger millet cooked into a firm, smooth dough, eaten with a thin, spicy bassaru. Bassaru literally means 'drained water': greens and dal are cooked together, the liquid is poured off and spiced into a peppery broth (the saaru), and the solids become a dry palya on the side. You pinch off a piece of mudde, roll it in the saaru and swallow it without chewing. It is filling, very nourishing and naturally gluten-free. Chef's tip: the wooden stick (mudde kolu) matters; stirring with the handle of a wooden spoon pushes the flour into the water and gets rid of lumps far better than a whisk.

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Tarri pohaFlattened rice with spicy chickpea curry

In Nagpur, winter mornings start at a poha stall: soft, turmeric-yellow flattened rice heaped onto a plate and then flooded with tarri, a spicy black-chickpea gravy with a slick of red oil on top, finished with raw onion, sev, coriander and a squeeze of lemon. It's Vidarbha's answer to the plain poha eaten elsewhere in India, louder and hotter, made for a cold morning and a cutting chai. Making it at home takes a little planning because the chana needs an overnight soak, but the tarri keeps for days. Chef's tip: don't skimp on the oil in the tarri; the red layer that floats on top is what soaks into the poha and gives the dish its name.

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Ghugni churaBlack chickpea curry with flattened rice

In Patna and the towns along the Ganges, ghugni chura is the morning and evening snack people queue for at the tea stall: a spicy, onion-rich curry of small black chickpeas served alongside chura, flattened rice that is fried or toasted in mustard oil until it crackles. You scoop a bit of each into your mouth together, with raw onion and green chilli for crunch. At home it is just as likely to be breakfast on a winter Sunday or what is offered to guests with tea. Chef's tip: cook the chana until it squashes easily between two fingers; firm chickpeas never soak up the masala.

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Goan poiGoan wholewheat pocket bread

Every morning in Goan villages the poder, the local baker, cycles from house to house honking a horn, his basket full of warm bread. Poi is the one Goans miss most when they leave home: a flat, round, wholewheat-and-white-flour bread dusted with wheat bran, baked in a very hot wood oven so it puffs into a hollow pocket. It's torn open for chorizo pao in Goa, but just as good stuffed with spicy chickpea ros, dipped in a vegetable xacuti, or eaten with butter and tea. Traditionally the dough was raised with palm toddy; at home, yeast does the job. Chef's tip: preheat a heavy baking tray in the oven for at least 20 minutes; the shock of hot metal is what makes the poi puff.

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ThethriGram flour twists

No Teeja in Chhattisgarh passes without a tin of thethri: knotted and twisted pieces of gram-flour dough, seasoned with ajwain and chilli and fried slowly until they shatter when you bite. Married daughters coming home for the festival are sent back with them, alongside the sweet khurmi, and they keep for weeks. Each family has its favourite shape, from simple knots to little spirals and braided rings. Chef's tip: fry on a medium-low flame and be patient; thethri fried hot puff up and brown outside but stay soft and chewy inside.

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Bastar aamatMixed vegetable curry

Aamat comes from the forested Bastar region of southern Chhattisgarh, where Gond and Halba families cook whatever the garden and forest give: pumpkin, brinjal, beans, drumsticks and, in the monsoon, sour fermented bamboo shoot. There is almost no oil and no heavy masala. Instead a paste of soaked rice turns the broth silky, and garlic, ginger and green chilli carry the flavour. It is served in bowls with plain rice, especially at village feasts and the Bastar Dussehra gatherings. Tinned bamboo shoot works well; leave it out and add lime at the end if you cannot find it. Chef's tip: keep stirring as you pour in the rice paste, because it sinks and sets into lumps on the bottom of the pot if left alone.

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BafauriSteamed chana dal dumplings

Bafauri comes from the same Chhattisgarhi home kitchens that make fara and chila, and it is the region's answer to a fried pakora without the frying. Soaked chana dal is ground coarse with ginger, garlic and chilli, mixed with onion and herbs, then steamed into little dumplings that are firm, nubbly and high in protein. They are eaten hot at teatime with tomato chutney, and many families also toss them in a quick mustard-seed tadka. Chef's tip: grind the dal with only 2–3 tablespoons of water; a wet paste spreads flat in the steamer and loses the rough texture that makes bafauri good.

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Masale bhaatSpiced rice with ivy gourd

At a traditional Maharashtrian wedding lunch in Pune, the masale bhaat arrives in a steel bucket, deep brown-gold with goda masala, studded with tondli, peas and cashews and topped with fresh coconut and coriander. Unlike a pulao it is not delicate: it's spiced, a touch sweet from jaggery, and made with short-grain ambemohor or indrayani rice that turns soft and fragrant. A squeeze of lemon, a spoon of ghee and a bowl of kadhi or mattha (spiced buttermilk) on the side make it a meal. Chef's tip: slice the ivy gourd lengthways into quarters, not rounds, so it holds its shape and stays crunchy through the steaming.

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Chhattisgarhi chilaRice flour pancakes

Chhattisgarh calls itself the rice bowl of India, and its everyday breakfast proves it: chila made from nothing more than rice batter, salt and a few aromatics, poured paper-thin onto a hot tawa. Village kitchens grind soaked rice on a stone; rice flour makes it quick enough for a weekday. The pancakes are soft in the middle with crisp, lacy edges and come with a rough chutney of fire-roasted tomato, garlic and green chilli. This is different from the thick gram-flour chila common elsewhere in India. Chef's tip: stir the batter before every ladle, because rice flour sinks fast and the last chilas otherwise turn thick and gummy.

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Sol kadhiKokum and coconut milk drink

Sol kadhi is the pale pink drink served at the end of every meal along the Konkan coast, from Malvan to Ratnagiri. Fresh coconut milk is mixed with the deep purple soaking water of kokum, a sour fruit that grows in the coastal hills, and seasoned with a little garlic, green chilli and salt. It's cool, tangy and gently creamy, and it soothes the stomach after a spicy Malvani thali. Drink it from a small glass or pour it over rice as the last course. Chef's tip: make it with fresh coconut if you can; the milk you squeeze yourself is lighter and sweeter than tinned and gives the classic blush-pink colour.

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Pithla with jowar bhakriGram flour curry with sorghum flatbread

In villages across the Deccan plateau of Maharashtra, pithla bhakri is what a farmer's family eats when the pantry is low and the day is long: a pan of gram flour simmered with garlic, green chilli and onion until it sets to a soft, spoonable curry, with thick jowar bhakri patted out by hand and a raw onion on the side. It became a symbol of rural Maharashtra, served at roadside stalls near Sinhagad fort to trekkers and at political rallies alike. Zunka, the dry version, uses the same flavours but is stirred until crumbly. Serve with thecha or a wedge of lemon. Chef's tip: whisk the gram flour into cold water before it meets the pan; that one step is the whole secret to a lump-free pithla.

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Garadu chaatFried yam chaat

When the nights turn cold in Indore, the stalls of Sarafa Bazaar pile their woks with garadu, a starchy, slightly sticky yam that only appears from November to February. It is boiled, fried until the edges crunch, then shaken with a punchy masala of roasted cumin, black salt and chilli and finished with lime. People eat it standing up from a leaf bowl, often as the savoury stop between jalebi and rabri. Garadu can be hard to find outside Madhya Pradesh; purple yam or white yam from an Asian or African grocer is the closest match, and taro (arbi) works in a pinch. Chef's tip: boil the cubes only until a knife meets slight resistance, then let them steam dry completely, because wet yam spits in the oil and never crisps.

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Dakor na gotaGram flour and fenugreek fritters

Pilgrims who come to the Ranchhodraiji temple at Dakor, in the Charotar belt of central Gujarat, rarely leave without a paper cone of gota from the shops around the temple square. These fritters are different from ordinary bhajia: the batter uses coarse gram flour, crushed black pepper and coriander seeds and plenty of fresh methi, and it is whipped light so the gota come out round, craggy and soft inside. Families buy the ready-mixed flour to take home and fry them on the first rainy evening of the monsoon. Serve them with green chutney, fried green chillies and a cup of masala chai. Chef's tip: beat the batter by hand in one direction for a full 3 minutes before frying; the air you whip in matters as much as the baking soda.

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Bikaneri bhujiaSpicy moth bean noodle snack

Bikaner in the Thar desert has made bhujia for well over a century, and the city's version stands apart for its use of moth-bean flour mixed with gram flour. Moth beans, hardy little desert pulses, give the sev an earthy flavour and a brittle, short crunch, while black pepper, black cardamom and a touch of clove add a peppery warmth. Families keep a tin of bhujia for tea time, sprinkle it over poha and chaat, and take boxes home after Diwali visits. A common mistake is making the dough too stiff; it is hard to press and the strands snap. Chef's tip: the dough should feel softer than chapati dough—so soft that a fingertip leaves a smooth dent. Use a sev press with the finest plate.

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Sev puriPuri topped with potato and chutneys

Sev puri is the snack Mumbaikars eat standing up at Juhu and Girgaum Chowpatty, or at the chaat stall outside the office in the evening. Flat, crisp papdi are laid out on a plate, topped with potato, onion and raw mango, splashed with green, sweet tamarind and red garlic chutneys, then buried under a snowfall of fine sev. It must be eaten within a couple of minutes, before the papdi soften. Here the papdi are made at home, but good shop-bought ones work fine on a busy day. Chef's tip: assemble each plate just before it's eaten, in the order given; chutney on bare papdi makes them soggy, so the potato always goes down first.

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Rajasthani kalmi vadaChana dal fritters

Kalmi vada gets its name from kalam, the Hindi word for pen: the fried chana-dal log is sliced into thin, slanted pieces that resemble pen nibs, then fried again until the slices are crunchy right through. In Jaipur and Ajmer, kalmi vadas are sold by weight from big trays, especially during the monsoon, and served with mint chutney and hot tea. The dal is ground coarse and spiced with whole coriander, fennel and chilli, so every bite crackles. The mistake to avoid is adding water when grinding; a wet mix won't hold its shape and absorbs oil. Chef's tip: let the first-fried logs cool completely before slicing, or they'll crumble under the knife.

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Sev usalWhite pea curry with sev

Ask anyone from Vadodara where to eat sev usal and you'll get a strong opinion and a street-corner name. Early in the morning the handcarts near Mandvi and Raopura have a huge pot of dried white peas simmering in a thin, fiery gravy, with a separate tin of brick-red chilli oil (the tari) on the side. A ladle of usal goes into a steel plate, a spoonful of tari is poured over, and then it disappears under fine sev, raw onion and coriander, with lemon and soft pav to mop it up. The gravy should be loose and soupy, not thick like a curry, so the sev stays crisp for the first few bites and then soaks in. Chef's tip: cook the tari separately and let each person add their own; the usal alone is only medium-hot, and the tari is where the fire comes from.

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TehriYellow rice with vegetables

In many Uttar Pradesh homes, tehri is what happens on a cold evening when nobody wants to cook three dishes. Rice, potatoes, cauliflower and peas go into one pot with mustard oil, turmeric and whole spices, and come out yellow, fluffy and lightly spiced. Families in Kanpur, Allahabad and Varanasi eat it with plain yogurt, a spoon of mango pickle and roasted papad, and it is also cooked for winter picnics. It differs from pulao in its turmeric colour and the sharp warmth of smoked mustard oil. A frequent mistake is stirring after the water goes in, which breaks the grains and makes the rice gluey. Chef's tip: heat the mustard oil until it just smokes, then let it cool for a few seconds before adding spices; this mellows its bite without losing the flavour.

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Ram ladooMoong dal fritters with chutney

Despite the name, ram ladoo aren't sweet. They're small, crisp moong and chana dal fritters, sold from carts across Delhi in winter, when white radish is at its best. The vendor splits a few hot ones, smears them with a sharp coriander chutney and buries them under a heap of grated mooli and its leaves, with lemon and chaat masala over the top. Hot, crunchy fritters against cold, peppery radish is the whole appeal; it's a light snack for a foggy evening. Chef's tip: grind the soaked dal with as little water as possible, then beat the batter by hand for 3–4 minutes; air whipped into it is what makes the ladoos puff up and stay light.

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ChainsooRoasted black gram dal

Chainsoo comes from the Garhwal hills, where whole black urad is roasted in a dry pan until it smells like toasted bread, ground coarsely on a hand mill and cooked into a thick, smoky dal. It is a winter dish: heavy, warming and full of protein, eaten with plain rice or jhangora and a drizzle of ghee for anyone who isn't keeping it vegan. Village cooks make it in a lohe ki kadhai, the iron pan that turns it almost black. The texture should be grainy and spoonable, somewhere between a dal and a porridge. Chef's tip: roast the urad slowly over a medium-low heat; the moment it turns from golden to dark brown it tastes bitter, so keep stirring and pull it off early.

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Bhatt ki churkaniBlack soybean curry

Black soybeans, called bhatt, grow on the slopes around Almora and Pithoragarh, and churkani is the everyday Kumaoni way of eating them: roasted in a dry iron pan until they crack, then simmered with garlic, ginger and a little rice flour into a thick, nearly black gravy. It's the kind of food that keeps people warm through a hill winter, eaten with steamed rice, a spoonful of ghee and a sharp radish raita. The roasting gives a nutty, almost smoky taste you won't get from boiling the beans. Chef's tip: cook it in an iron kadhai if you have one; the metal reacts with the beans and gives churkani its traditional dark colour.

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Ladakhi skyuWheat dough and root vegetable stew

Skyu is what Ladakhi families in Leh and the villages along the Indus cook when the passes close and fresh vegetables run short: a thick stew of turnip, potato and carrot with little cups of wheat dough pressed with the thumb, a bit like orecchiette. It is filling, gently peppery and made in a single pot on the kitchen stove that also heats the house. Some homes finish it with a splash of milk or a crumble of dried cheese; this version keeps it plant-based and lets the vegetables flavour the broth. Chef's tip: press each piece of dough thin enough to see the thumbprint clearly; thick pieces stay doughy in the middle.

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ThukpaHimalayan noodle soup

Thukpa is the warming noodle soup of the Himalayas, eaten in Sikkim, Ladakh and the Tibetan settlements of the hills on cold evenings. A gingery, garlicky broth is cooked with carrot, cabbage and tomato, then wheat noodles and spinach go straight into the pot. It's light yet filling, savoury with soy and pepper and as spicy as you like with chilli on the side. Serve in deep bowls with a squeeze of lemon. Chef's tip: cook the noodles in the soup only just before serving; left standing, they keep drinking up the broth and turn soft.

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Vegetable momosSteamed vegetable dumplings

Momos came to Sikkim and the Darjeeling hills with Tibetan settlers and are now the snack of the whole Himalayan Northeast, steamed in tall stacked steamers at every street corner. Thin, soft wrappers hold a juicy filling of cabbage, carrot, onion and tofu with plenty of ginger, garlic and spring onion. They are dipped in a hot, garlicky tomato and red chilli achar. Serve straight from the steamer, with a bowl of clear soup if you like. Chef's tip: salt the chopped cabbage and squeeze out its water before mixing the filling; it keeps the wrappers from turning soggy and tearing.

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DalmaPigeon pea and vegetable dal

Dalma is the comfort food of Odisha and the dal offered at the Jagannath temple in Puri. Toor dal is cooked together with chunky vegetables, usually raw banana, pumpkin, aubergine and potato, so they soften into it and make it hearty enough to be a meal. A tempering of panch phoron and dried chilli and a sprinkle of roasted cumin-chilli powder give it its smoky warmth; a little grated coconut is often added on top. Odia homes finish it with a spoonful of ghee; this version uses oil so it stays vegan. Serve with plain rice. Chef's tip: add the vegetables halfway through cooking the dal, not at the start, so they keep their shape and the dal stays thick rather than watery.

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Aloo postoPotatoes in poppy seed paste

Aloo posto is one of West Bengal's best-loved everyday dishes: cubes of potato cooked gently in a thick paste of ground white poppy seeds, green chilli and mustard oil. The poppy seeds give a nutty, creamy coating without any dairy, and the nigella seeds and raw mustard oil add a sharp, fragrant edge. It's simple, mild and comforting, eaten with plain rice and dal in Kolkata homes. Chef's tip: grind the soaked poppy seeds with the green chillies and a splash of water until truly smooth; a gritty paste never turns creamy.

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KahwaSaffron green tea

Kahwa is the warming green tea of Kashmir, traditionally brewed in a brass samovar and poured for guests on cold winter days. Green tea leaves are infused with saffron, green cardamom and cinnamon, sweetened lightly and served with slivered almonds in each cup. It's golden, fragrant and soothing, and is drunk after heavy meals to help digestion. Chef's tip: never boil the tea leaves; simmer the spices first, then let the tea steep off the heat for just 2 minutes or it turns bitter.

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HaakCollard greens in mustard oil

Haak is the everyday green of Kashmir: collard greens grown in every kitchen garden, cooked whole with nothing more than mustard oil, dried red chilli, asafoetida and salt. The leaves stay bright, tender and slightly silky, with a clean, peppery taste that sings next to rice. Kashmiri Pandit households keep it this simple; Muslim homes often add a few garlic cloves. Serve with plain rice and a dal or rajma. Chef's tip: leave the leaves whole or in large pieces and cook them uncovered for the first minutes; chopping and covering too early turns them dull olive-green.

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Sattu parathaRoasted gram stuffed flatbread

Sattu paratha is a Bihari breakfast that keeps farmers going until lunch. Sattu, roasted bengal gram ground to a fine flour, is mixed with onion, garlic, green chilli, carom seeds and a dash of pickle masala, then rolled into wholemeal dough and cooked on a hot tawa until blistered. The filling is savoury, punchy and high in protein, and the bread stays soft for hours, which is why it's packed for long journeys. Serve with curd or chokha and a pickle. Chef's tip: moisten the filling just enough to clump; a dry sattu filling bursts through the dough and burns on the tawa.

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Litti chokhaStuffed wheat balls with mashed vegetables

Litti chokha is Bihar's signature meal, cooked on street corners and at village gatherings over smouldering embers. Litti are rustic wheat balls stuffed with sattu (roasted gram flour) sharpened with garlic, ginger, mustard oil and pickle masala; they bake until crusty outside and crumbly inside. Chokha is a smoky mash of fire-roasted aubergine, potato and tomato with raw mustard oil and green chilli. Together they are filling, protein-rich and deeply savoury. Many Biharis dunk hot litti in melted ghee; for a vegan plate, brush them with mustard oil instead. Chef's tip: roast the aubergine and tomatoes right on a gas flame until the skins are black all over; that charring is the whole flavour of chokha.

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Ker sangriDesert berries and beans

Ker sangri is a true desert dish from the Thar in Rajasthan: ker are small, sour wild caper berries and sangri are the thin, chewy bean pods of the khejri tree, both picked in summer and sun-dried to last the year. Soaked, boiled and fried in plenty of mustard oil with chilli, mango powder and coriander, they become tangy, earthy and almost pickle-like. It keeps for days, which is why it travelled with camel herders. Serve with bajra roti or puri, or as a side to dal baati. Chef's tip: taste a ker berry after boiling; if it is still very bitter, boil it again in fresh water before frying.

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Goan vegetable xacutiRoasted coconut vegetable curry

Xacuti (sha-koo-tee) is one of Goa's most complex curries: grated coconut is roasted until deep brown with poppy seeds, dried chillies and a long list of whole spices, then ground into a thick, aromatic masala. In Goa it's usually made with chicken; vegetarian Goan families make it with mushrooms, potatoes, peas and other vegetables, and the roasted coconut gives it all the depth it needs. It's warm and fragrant rather than fiery, with a touch of tamarind and jaggery. Serve with rice, pao or chapatis. Chef's tip: roast the coconut slowly over a low heat until it's the colour of milk chocolate and smells like toasted nuts; that colour is the xacuti's flavour, and pale coconut gives you a pale, flat curry.

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ThalipeethMultigrain flatbread

Thalipeeth is a rustic Maharashtrian flatbread made from bhajani, a flour of roasted grains and lentils. The dough is soft and sticky with onion, green chilli and coriander, and is patted out by hand straight onto the pan, with holes poked in it so the oil can crisp it from both sides. It comes off the tawa crunchy at the edges and soft in the middle, smoky with cumin and coriander seed. Eat it hot for breakfast with thick yogurt, white butter or a garlic and peanut chutney, or with lemon pickle. Chef's tip: pat the dough out on a damp cloth or wet baking paper and flip it straight onto the pan; it's too soft to roll, and wet hands keep it from sticking.

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Misal pavSprouted bean curry with bread rolls

Misal pav is Maharashtra's great street breakfast, eaten from Pune's old eateries to the hot, red misal of Kolhapur. Sprouted moth beans (matki) are cooked into a thick usal, then drowned at the table in a fiery, oily, thin curry called kat or tarri, and topped with crunchy farsan, raw onion, coriander and a squeeze of lemon. It comes with soft pav to mop it all up. Each person builds their own bowl, adding as much tarri as their tongue can take. Chef's tip: let the kat simmer until a red layer of oil floats on top; Pune vendors skim this 'tarri' off and spoon it over each bowl, and that oily, spicy film is the whole point of a good misal.

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Medu vadaUrad dal doughnuts

Medu vada are the ring-shaped lentil fritters eaten all over Tamil Nadu and the rest of the south for breakfast, with idli, sambar and coconut chutney. A good one has a thin, crisp, golden shell and an inside as light and airy as a cloud, flecked with black pepper, ginger, green chilli and curry leaves. The secret is a very thick batter ground with as little water as possible and then whipped full of air. Serve them hot, dunked in sambar, or soaked in rasam as 'rasa vada'. Chef's tip: drop a little batter into a bowl of water before you shape them; if it floats, it's airy enough, and if it sinks, beat it by hand for another few minutes.

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Mirchi ka salanGreen chillies in peanut sesame sauce

Mirchi ka salan comes from Hyderabad, where it's the classic partner for biryani at weddings and Sunday lunches. Fat, mild green chillies are fried until blistered, then simmered in a nutty gravy of roasted peanuts, sesame and dried coconut, soured with tamarind. The result is rich, tangy and only gently hot, with the chillies giving a fresh, grassy bite. It also tastes very good with plain rice, jeera rice or parathas and is even better the next day. Chef's tip: roast the peanuts, sesame and coconut separately and slowly; each browns at its own pace, and one scorched spoonful of sesame turns the whole gravy bitter.

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PesarattuGreen moong crêpes

Pesarattu is the breakfast dosa of Andhra Pradesh, made from whole green moong beans ground with ginger, green chilli and cumin rather than rice and urad dal. Because the batter needs no fermenting, you can soak the beans before bed and have crisp, nutty, bright-green dosas on the table by morning. In Andhra homes they're scattered with onion and eaten with a sharp ginger chutney, and on festive days filled with upma to make 'MLA pesarattu'. They're high in protein, light and naturally gluten free. Chef's tip: add a small handful of raw rice to the soak; it isn't traditional everywhere, but it gives the dosa a crisper edge and stops it tearing on the pan.

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Aloo potala rasaPointed gourd and potato curry

Aloo potala rasa is Odisha's favourite party curry: you will find it on the menu of every Odia wedding and thread ceremony, ladled over rice or eaten with puri. Pointed gourds (potala, parwal) are scraped, fried until blistered, and simmered with potatoes in a thick onion, tomato and ginger-garlic gravy perfumed with whole garam masala. Unlike the light everyday dishes of the state, this one is rich and slow-cooked. Chef's tip: scrape the potala lightly rather than peeling; the green streaks look pretty and hold the shape.

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Puttu and kadala currySteamed rice cylinders with chickpea curry

Puttu and kadala is Kerala's most loved breakfast: tall cylinders of steamed rice flour layered with fresh coconut, served with a dark, earthy curry of black chickpeas (kadala) cooked in a masala of coconut roasted until deep brown. Puttu itself is plain and crumbly, so you break it up with your fingers and mash it into the curry, often with a ripe banana and pappadam on the side. The chickpeas make it filling and protein-rich. Chef's tip: the puttu flour should feel like damp sand that holds when squeezed and crumbles when poked; too wet and the puttu turns dense and gluey.

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Appam with vegetable stewRice hoppers with vegetable stew

Appam with stew is a Kerala breakfast loved across communities, and the classic Easter and Christmas morning meal for Syrian Christian families. Appams are bowl-shaped pancakes of fermented rice and coconut batter: crisp, lacy edges around a thick, spongy, slightly sweet centre. The stew (ishtu) is pale and gentle: potatoes and vegetables simmered in thin coconut milk with whole spices, ginger and green chilli, finished with thick coconut milk and curry leaves. Chef's tip: swirl the appam pan once, firmly, the moment the batter goes in, then cover; the swirl makes the lace and the lid steams the soft centre.

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Tomato rasamTomato tamarind soup

Rasam is the thin, sour, peppery broth that runs through every Tamil Nadu meal, poured over rice after sambar or sipped from a tumbler when you have a cold. This tomato version is the everyday kind: ripe tomatoes and tamarind simmered with crushed garlic, black pepper and cumin, then lifted with a tempering of mustard seeds, dried chilli and curry leaves. It's light, warming and ready in 25 minutes. Serve it with plain rice and a dry vegetable, or on its own in a cup. Chef's tip: once you add the spice mix, take the rasam off the heat as soon as it froths up; boiling it hard turns the flavour flat and the pepper harsh.

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Rava dosaCrisp semolina crêpes

Rava dosa is the instant dosa of Karnataka's Udupi restaurants: a thin, pourable batter of semolina and rice flour, studded with cumin, cracked pepper, ginger and curry leaves, poured onto a very hot griddle so it sets into a crisp, holey lace. There's no soaking or fermenting, so it's the dosa to make when the craving strikes. Serve straight from the pan with coconut chutney and sambar. Because it contains semolina it's not gluten free. Chef's tip: the batter must be watery, thinner than single cream; pour it from a height onto the pan instead of spreading it, and stir the bowl before every dosa because the semolina sinks.

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Masala dosaPotato-filled rice crêpes

Masala dosa is the breakfast of Tamil Nadu and Karnataka: a huge, thin, golden crêpe of fermented rice and urad dal batter, crisp at the edges and soft in the middle, folded around a turmeric-yellow potato and onion filling tempered with mustard seeds and curry leaves. In Chennai and Bengaluru it's eaten at small tiffin rooms with coconut chutney and a bowl of sambar, torn by hand. The batter takes planning, soaking in the morning and fermenting overnight, but one batch makes dosas for two or three days. Chef's tip: wipe the hot griddle with a cut onion dipped in oil, then sprinkle on water; if it sizzles away in a second the pan is ready, and the batter will spread thin without sticking.

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ShingaraPotato-filled pastry cones

Shingara is Bengal's samosa, and every Kolkata sweet shop fries a batch for the evening tea crowd. It differs from the North Indian kind in small, important ways: the pastry is flecked with nigella seeds, the potatoes are diced rather than mashed, and in winter the filling gets cauliflower florets, fried peanuts and a few raisins, all tempered with panch phoron. The shape is a tall cone with a tight pleated top, so it stands upright on the plate. Chef's tip: dice the potato small (1 cm) and cook it only until just tender; mushy potato turns the filling into mash and loses that Bengali bite.

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Koraishutir kochuriGreen pea stuffed puris

Koraishutir kochuri is a winter treat in Kolkata and across West Bengal, made when sweet new-season peas arrive in the markets. Soft maida dough is filled with a smooth, gingery green pea paste, rolled thin and fried until it puffs into a pale golden pillow with a green blush showing through. It's a Sunday breakfast or a festive snack, classically served with aloor dom (Bengali spiced potatoes) or cholar dal and a sweet to finish. Chef's tip: cook the pea paste until it's dry enough to roll into a ball that doesn't stick to your fingers; a wet filling tears through the thin dough as you roll.

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Banarasi kachori sabziUrad dal puris with potato curry

Walk the ghats of Varanasi in Uttar Pradesh at dawn and you'll smell kachori sabzi frying in huge karahis. Banarasi kachori is small and puffed like a puri, with soaked urad dal ground with ginger and fennel worked straight into the wholewheat dough rather than stuffed inside. It comes with a thin, peppery potato and tomato rasa made without onion or garlic, scented with hing and fenugreek seeds, and is usually followed by a hot jalebi. Chef's tip: roll the puris evenly to 3 mm and slide them into really hot oil, pressing gently with a slotted spoon; even thickness and fierce heat are what make them balloon.

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Khasta kachori with aloo sabziFlaky urad dal pastries with potato curry

In the lanes of Old Delhi, breakfast often means a leaf plate of khasta kachori broken into a hot, thin potato curry, with a dollop of pickle and a cup of chai. The kachoris are large and flat with a peppery filling of coarsely ground urad dal, fried slowly until they blister and puff, and the aloo sabzi is fiery with chilli and sharp with tomato and dried mango. It's a weekend dish, filling enough to last until lunch. Chef's tip: break the boiled potatoes by hand rather than chopping them; the rough edges melt into the gravy and thicken it naturally.

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Moong dal kachoriSpiced moong dal pastries

In Jaipur, Rajasthan, moong dal kachori is the street snack people queue for: a round, golden pastry that shatters into flaky layers around a dry, crumbly filling of coarsely ground yellow lentils roasted with fennel, coriander seed and chilli. Because the filling is dry and the crust is fried slowly, they stay crisp for days, which is why families make a big batch before a journey or festival. Serve them warm or at room temperature with tamarind chutney and green chutney, or break them into a bowl of kadhi. Chef's tip: grind the soaked dal coarse and without water, then roast it until it smells like toasted nuts and feels sandy; a wet or under-roasted filling is the reason kachoris go soft.

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Pyaaz kachoriOnion-filled fried pastries

Pyaaz kachori is the pride of Jodhpur in Rajasthan, where sweet shops fry them from early morning and sell them by the hundred with tamarind chutney. The crust is khasta: short, layered and crackly, made by rubbing plenty of oil into the flour and frying slowly. Inside is a soft, jammy filling of onions cooked with fennel, coriander seed and nigella, bound with a little gram flour and potato and lifted with dried mango powder. Eat them warm for breakfast or with afternoon chai. Chef's tip: fry them in oil that is only just warm and let them take their time; the slow fry is what puffs the crust into crisp, hollow layers instead of a hard, oily shell.

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Healthy tawaMixed vegetables on the tawa

A big sizzling griddle of boiled fresh beans and vegetables (peas, pigeon peas, black-eyed beans, soya beans, kidney beans, corn, cassava, sweet potato, baby potatoes and roasted plantain) tossed with sesame seeds, onions and a green chilli, ginger and garlic paste. It's filling, colourful and feeds a crowd at a barbecue. Serve sizzling hot straight from the tawa.

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Tawa chilli potatoes

A big tawa of potato cubes tossed with a fragrant tempering of mustard, cumin, coriander seeds, aniseed, cloves, cinnamon and black pepper, then onions, ginger, garlic and two kinds of chilli. It's hot, aromatic and great as a barbecue starter. Swap the potatoes for steamed paneer cubes for a change.

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Corn bombSpiced corn on the cob chunks

Chunks of tender corn on the cob tossed in hot oil with cumin, green chillies, fresh coriander, turmeric, black pepper and lemon until every kernel is coated. It's hot, tangy and messy to eat with your fingers. Serve hot from the barbecue.

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Barbequed peas

Tender peas in their pods tossed with chilli, ginger, garlic and lemon, sealed in foil and steamed on the barbecue. Everyone shells their own at the table and gets the spice on their fingers. Use the youngest, sweetest pods you can find.

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BaiVegetable and bamboo shoot stew

Bai is the everyday dish of Mizoram, cooked in Aizawl homes almost daily: a stew of greens such as mustard leaves or pumpkin leaves, bamboo shoot, pumpkin and beans, boiled in water with a pinch of soda (traditionally 'chingal', an ash-filtered alkali) that softens the greens. It has almost no oil and little spice, and often a spoonful of pork fat goes in; this vegetarian version leaves it out and adds a little more ginger. Bai is light, green and soothing, eaten with rice and a chilli dip. Chef's tip: add the soda with the greens, not before, and only a pinch; too much turns the stew slimy.

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NimonaFresh green pea curry

When fresh peas fill the markets of Varanasi and Gorakhpur in December, almost every household makes nimona. The peas are coarsely ground and fried in mustard oil until they lose their raw smell and turn a darker, nutty green. Potatoes are then added and everything simmers in a thin, spicy gravy. It is eaten with plain rice on a winter afternoon, and some families add fried moong dal vadis for extra bite. The most common mistake is grinding the peas into a smooth paste; nimona should have texture, like crushed peas rather than soup. Chef's tip: pulse the peas with the green chillies, ginger and garlic in short bursts, and stop as soon as they look like coarse, wet crumbs.

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Chhum hanSteamed vegetables with chilli dip

Chhum han is how Mizo families eat vegetables at their simplest: whatever is in the garden (pumpkin, chayote, beans, aubergine, cabbage, potato) steamed or boiled until just tender and served on a plate with a sharp dip of crushed chilli, garlic, salt and herbs. In Aizawl it is part of almost every home meal, eaten with rice and bai. The vegetables taste of themselves, and the dip does the work. Chef's tip: steam each vegetable for its own time and take it off when a knife slides in; overcooked chhum han is watery and dull.

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Muya awandruBamboo shoot with rice paste

Muya awandru is a classic of the Tripuri (Kokborok-speaking) kitchen around Agartala: tender bamboo shoot is cooked with green chilli and a rice-flour paste (awandru) until it thickens into a soft, savoury mass, a little like a porridge. Traditionally a piece of berma (fermented dried fish) goes in; this vegetarian version drops it and adds roasted garlic and a little fermented soybean for depth, as vegetarian Tripuri cooks do. It is eaten with rice, often at village feasts. Chef's tip: mix the rice flour with cold water before adding it, or it lumps.

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Mosdeng sermaRoasted tomato and chilli relish

Mosdeng serma is the fresh relish Tripuri families in Agartala put on the table almost every day: tomatoes and green chillies roasted until blackened, then crushed with raw onion, coriander and salt. Some versions mash in dried fish; this one doesn't, and leans on a squeeze of lime and plenty of coriander. It is lighter and more salsa-like than Naga raja mircha chutney: chunky, juicy and smoky, more vegetable than chilli. Chef's tip: crush, don't blend; a few whole bits of tomato make it.

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Lasaniya batakaGarlic potatoes

Lasaniya bataka is a dhaba favourite along the highways of Kathiawad, where it lands on the table next to bajra rotla, a lump of white butter, raw onion and a glass of chaas. Baby potatoes are boiled, lightly fried, then coated in a thick paste of pounded garlic and red chilli that has been cooked down until it smells sweet rather than sharp. It is hot, garlicky and a little tangy, the kind of side dish that turns plain flatbread into a meal. Make it for a winter lunch with Kathiawadi kadhi and khichdi. Chef's tip: pound the garlic and chilli in a mortar instead of blending; a slightly coarse paste clings to the potatoes and gives you little bursts of garlic.

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Jolada rotti with ennegaiSorghum flatbread with stuffed aubergine

Across Hubballi, Dharwad, Vijayapura and the dry plains of north Karnataka, a meal means jolada rotti: thin, crisp sorghum flatbreads slapped out by hand, often by the hundred and stored in cloth to eat with everything. Their best-loved partner is ennegai, which means 'oil vegetable': small brinjals slit and stuffed with roasted peanuts, sesame, dry coconut and spices, then cooked slowly in plenty of oil until they collapse into a thick, nutty gravy. It is wedding food, field food and Sunday food, with raw onion, a wedge of lemon and spicy chutney powder on the side. Chef's tip: use boiling water for the jowar dough; it gelatinises the flour slightly, so the rotti holds together without any wheat.

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Kuzhi paniyaramSavoury rice dumplings

In Chettinad, kuzhi paniyaram is what happens to the last of the idli and dosa batter: it's mixed with shallots, chilli and curry leaves and cooked in a cast-iron pan full of round hollows until each ball is crisp and golden outside and soft as idli inside. Karaikudi households make them for evening tiffin and they're sold hot from street griddles in Madurai. Eat them straight from the pan with coconut chutney or a red tomato-onion kara chutney. Chef's tip: use batter that's a day or two old and slightly sour; it gives lighter, puffier paniyarams than fresh batter.

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Phutkal saagStir-fried fig-tree leaves

In spring, before the rains, the phutkal tree (a wild fig) puts out tender pink-green shoots, and women across Jharkhand climb or hook them down to cook as saag. The leaves are naturally sour, so the dish needs no tomato or tamarind: they are boiled, squeezed and fried with garlic, dried chilli and mustard oil. Much of the harvest is dried in the sun and sold in Ranchi markets to cook through the year, and dried phutkal is what most people outside the state can find. Chef's tip: boil and squeeze the leaves well; this tames any bitterness and keeps the saag from turning watery.

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Kurthi dalHorse gram dal

Kurthi, as horse gram is called in Jharkhand, grows on poor, dry upland soil where little else will, and it has fed the plateau's Adivasi and farming families for centuries. Cooked slowly into dal, it is dark, earthy and filling, with a slightly smoky taste, and it is eaten through the cold months with rice and a dry vegetable, as it is believed to warm the body. The tempering of garlic, dried chilli and smoking mustard oil is what makes it Jharkhandi. Chef's tip: mash a ladle of the cooked gram against the side of the pot; it thickens the dal without any flour.

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Chilka rotiRice and chana dal pancakes

Chilka roti is an everyday breakfast and evening snack in Jharkhand's villages, and a favourite offering at Sarhul, the spring festival of the sal trees. Rice and chana dal are soaked and ground into a batter that is poured onto a hot tawa and cooked with a lid, so the roti comes out thick, soft and spongy with a lightly crisp base, much heartier than a thin rice-flour chila. It is eaten hot with a tomato or coriander chutney or with ghugni. Chef's tip: grease the tawa with a cut onion dipped in oil; it keeps the roti from sticking and adds a little flavour.

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Karil (bamboo shoot curry)Bamboo shoot and potato curry

In the villages of Jharkhand's Chotanagpur plateau, the first tender bamboo shoots of the rains are called karil, and they are cooked into a simple, punchy dry curry with potato, lots of garlic and mustard oil. Some families also dry or pickle the shoots to last the year. The shoots stay crunchy and have a gentle sourness that goes beautifully with rice and dal. Tinned bamboo shoots work well and are already cooked. Chef's tip: always boil fresh shoots before using them; raw bamboo is bitter and not safe to eat.

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Rugra curryPuffball mushroom curry

Rugra are small, round underground mushrooms that push up under sal trees in Jharkhand's forests after the first monsoon rains. Tribal villagers dig them out and sell them by the basket in Ranchi markets for a few short weeks, and families cook them into a dark, spicy curry with onion, tomato and mustard oil. They have a firm skin and a meaty, earthy bite. Outside Jharkhand, small whole button or chestnut mushrooms make a fine version. Chef's tip: rugra come caked in soil, so soak and scrub them several times, then halve one to check the inside is white; grey or black ones are past their best.

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DhuskaFried rice and dal bread

Dhuska is the breakfast of Ranchi and the whole of Jharkhand, fried fresh at roadside stalls from early morning. Rice and chana dal are soaked, ground to a thick, slightly coarse batter with green chilli and ginger, and ladled into hot oil, where each round puffs up crisp outside and soft and spongy inside. It is eaten with aloo-chana ghugni or a thin potato curry and a sharp coriander chutney, and it is a must at Jharkhandi weddings and Karma festival. Chef's tip: beat the batter hard for a couple of minutes before frying; the trapped air makes it puff without any soda.

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KosambariMoong dal and cucumber salad

No Karnataka festival lunch on a banana leaf is complete without a spoonful of kosambari at the top left corner. This raw salad of soaked split moong dal, cucumber, carrot and fresh coconut, sharpened with lemon and finished with a mustard-seed tempering, is especially made for Ram Navami, when it is offered in temples with panaka (jaggery water), and for Ugadi and weddings. It is crunchy, cool and refreshing, and packed with protein. Chef's tip: add the salt and lemon only just before serving; salted cucumber weeps water and turns the salad soggy within half an hour.

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JhalmuriSpiced puffed rice

Jhalmuri is the snack Kolkata eats on the move: outside Howrah station, along the Maidan, on suburban local trains, where a vendor tosses puffed rice in a tin with raw mustard oil, chopped onion, cucumber, green chilli and a fistful of chanachur, then tips it into a cone of newspaper. The sharp, nose-tingling mustard oil is what separates it from Mumbai's bhel; there is no sweet chutney at all, only salt, lime and heat. Eat it the minute it is mixed, while it still crackles. Chef's tip: warm the puffed rice in a dry pan for a couple of minutes first; even fresh muri crisps up noticeably.

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BabruBlack gram stuffed fried bread

Ask anyone who grew up in Shimla about babru and they will mention a paper plate of them in the Lower Bazaar, still puffing from the oil, with a ladle of dark tamarind chutney poured over. Unlike Uttar Pradesh's flaky urad kachori, babru is made from a soft, yeasted wheat dough, so it fries up light and bready, and it is pressed flat and wide rather than shaped into a ball. The filling is whole black gram, soaked and ground with ginger and green chilli. In Himachal homes it is a tea-time and festival snack, and it travels well in a tiffin. Chef's tip: grind the dal coarse and thick, like hummus; a runny paste leaks and makes the babru greasy.

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Kachri ki chutneyWild melon and chilli chutney

Kachri is a small wild melon that grows on its own in the sandy fields of southern Haryana and western Rajasthan. Sliced and sun-dried, it keeps for a year and has a sharp, sour taste that farmers' families grind with garlic and red chilli into this fiery chutney. A spoonful goes with bajra roti and white butter on a winter afternoon, or with dal and rice when there is nothing else in the house. Dried kachri and kachri powder are sold in Indian grocers. Chef's tip: taste a piece of dried kachri first; occasionally one batch is bitter, and that bitterness will ruin the whole jar.

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Aloo ke gutkePotato cubes with mountain spices

Ask anyone from Kumaon what they miss most from home and aloo ke gutke comes up quickly. Hill potatoes are boiled, cut into rough chunks and tossed in smoking mustard oil with jakhiya, a tiny wild seed that pops and crunches like mustard but tastes more like toasted cumin. It's served at tea time with a mug of chai, on festival plates next to puri, and in local dhabas with cucumber raita. Outside Uttarakhand jakhiya is hard to find, so use cumin seeds with a few black mustard seeds instead; the dish will still taste right. Chef's tip: boil the potatoes a few hours ahead, or the night before, so they firm up and fry into crisp-edged cubes instead of crumbling.

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Delhi-style fruit chaatSpiced fruit chaat

Delhi's fruit chaat wallahs set up their carts in the afternoons with towers of guava, papaya, apples and bananas, plus roasted sweet potato, and chop whatever you point at into a leaf bowl. Then comes the part that makes it chaat rather than fruit salad: a big shake of tangy chaat masala, black salt and roasted cumin, a squeeze of lime, sometimes a pinch of chilli. It's a refreshing mid-afternoon snack in summer, and a regular sight on Ramzan iftar spreads too. The salt and spice make sweet fruit taste even sweeter. Chef's tip: season it just before eating; once the salt goes on, the fruit starts weeping juice and goes soft within 15 minutes.

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ZanMillet porridge with vegetables

Zan is the millet porridge of Arunachal Pradesh, eaten by the Monpa, Sherdukpen and other hill communities for breakfast or dinner on cold days. Finger millet (ragi) flour is stirred into boiling water with vegetables, ginger and chilli until thick and smooth, then served with a chilli chutney or butter. Some families cook it with meat; this is the vegetable version. It is warming, filling and earthy-tasting, a little like a savoury polenta. Chef's tip: sprinkle the millet flour in with one hand while whisking with the other, or it forms lumps that never cook out.

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BesaraVegetables in mustard garlic paste

Besara means 'with mustard', and in Odisha it is the name of any dish cooked in a freshly ground paste of mustard seeds, garlic and green chilli. Fish besara is the best known; this is the vegetarian version cooked in Odia homes with pumpkin, potato, aubergine, raw banana and a few drumsticks, made sour with a little tamarind or dried mango. The mustard gives it a clean, sinus-clearing heat that is very different from a turmeric-and-chilli curry. Chef's tip: grind the mustard with a pinch of salt and a green chilli; this stops the paste turning bitter.

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SantulaMildly spiced mixed vegetables

Santula is everyday Odia comfort food, the dish cooks in Bhubaneswar and Cuttack make when someone is unwell or when the family wants something light after festival meals. Papaya, potato, aubergine, pumpkin and raw banana are boiled with turmeric, then given a quick tempering of panch phoron, garlic and dried chilli in a little oil, and finished, in many homes, with a spoon of milk. It is soft, mild and slightly soupy, and eaten with rice and dal. Chef's tip: boil the vegetables only until just tender; santula should look like separate pieces, not a mash.

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LabraMixed vegetable curry

Labra is the vegetable dish of Durga Puja bhog: in community pandals across Bengal it is ladled out beside khichuri and a sweet tomato chutney to hundreds of people sitting in rows. It is a loose jumble of pumpkin, potato, aubergine, radish, sweet potato, raw banana and spinach stalks, cooked with panch phoron and ginger until some pieces melt and others hold. No onion or garlic goes in, because it is temple food. Chef's tip: add the vegetables in order of hardness, so the pumpkin goes soft and sweet while the radish and banana keep their shape.

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Chakuli pithaRice and urad dal pancakes

Chakuli pitha is Odisha's breakfast pancake and the first of the pithas a child learns to love; it is offered to Lord Jagannath and made at home on Sundays and for Manabasa Gurubar in the month of Margasira. Rice and a little urad dal are soaked, ground and fermented overnight, then poured onto a hot pan into a pancake that is thinner than an uttapam but softer and thicker than a dosa, with a lacy, holey top. It is eaten with aloo bhaja, ghuguni or simply with jaggery. Chef's tip: cook only on one side under a lid; the steam sets the top and keeps the holes.

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Fruit chaatSpiced fruit salad

All over India, fruit sellers with handcarts chop a plate of fruit chaat to order, and in Kolkata the evening carts near New Market and Gariahat pile guava, apple, papaya, banana, pomegranate and cucumber into a leaf bowl with chaat masala, black salt and lime. During Ramzan it appears at iftar, and in summer it is sold with a sprinkle of chilli. It is sweet, salty, sour and a little hot all at once, so it tastes nothing like a dessert fruit salad. Chef's tip: use at least one crunchy fruit (guava, apple or pear) and one soft one (banana or papaya) for contrast.

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BeguniBattered aubergine fritters

When the monsoon arrives in Kolkata, the telebhaja shops at every para corner start frying beguni: long, thin slices of aubergine dipped in a spiced gram-flour batter and fried until the coat puffs and turns golden. It is eaten with muri and a cup of tea, or alongside khichuri on a wet Saturday. The inside should be soft and creamy, the shell thin and crackly. Chef's tip: a spoonful of rice flour and a pinch of nigella in the batter keep it crisp long after frying. This is a different dish from begun bhaja, where the slices are fried bare with turmeric and salt.

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Keerai masiyalMashed greens

Keerai masiyal is the plain, green, buttery-soft mash Tamil mothers make with whatever keerai the market has that morning: arai keerai, siru keerai, amaranth or plain spinach. The leaves are cooked with shallots, garlic and green chilli and then mashed, traditionally with a wooden mathu, until smooth but still a little textured, then finished with a cumin tempering. It's eaten mixed into hot rice with a spoon of ghee or sesame oil, next to sambar or rasam, and it's a favourite first food for toddlers. Chef's tip: cook the greens uncovered; covering them traps the gases that turn the leaves dull olive instead of bright green.

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Sarva pindiRice flour and peanut flatbread

Sarva pindi, also called ginne appa or tapala chekka, is a thick, crisp rice-flour bread from rural Telangana, pressed by hand into a heavy pan, studded with holes and baked slowly in oil until the base is golden and crunchy. The dough is full of soaked chana dal, peanuts, sesame, green chilli, curry leaves and coriander, so every bite is savoury and nutty. It is the snack that waits on the stove when children come home from school, and a favourite for Sankranti and long train journeys because it keeps well. Chef's tip: press the dough into a cold pan, not a hot one; it spreads evenly and the holes stay open as it heats.

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Dhokar dalnaLentil cakes in gravy

Dhokar dalna comes from the Bengali niramish (vegetarian) kitchen of widows and temple cooks, and it is still cooked in Kolkata homes for festive lunches and Saraswati Puja. Soaked chana dal is ground, cooked with ginger and asafoetida into a thick paste, set in a tray and cut into diamonds, which are fried and then dropped into a thin, fragrant gravy just before serving. The dhoka soak up the sauce like a sponge. Chef's tip: cook the dal paste until it leaves the sides of the pan in one mass; if it is too soft, the diamonds break in the gravy.

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PulihoraTamarind rice

Pulihora is the rice Andhra families cook for Ugadi, Sankranti and every temple festival in between, and it's also the dish wrapped in banana leaves for long train trips because it keeps all day. The Telugu version is sharper and hotter than Tamil puliyodarai or Karnataka puliyogare: cooked rice is tossed with a thick tamarind paste, turmeric, mustard and a hefty tempering of peanuts, chana dal, green and red chillies and curry leaves, with no sweet spice powder. It's sour, hot, nutty and fragrant with sesame oil. Eat it at room temperature with curd or a crisp papad. Chef's tip: cook the tamarind paste until oil separates at the edges; under-cooked tamarind gives the rice a raw, puckery sourness.

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Cabbage thoranCabbage and coconut stir-fry

Thoran is the everyday dry vegetable of Kerala, on the lunch plate in nearly every home and in the steel tiffin boxes carried to offices from Thiruvananthapuram to Kannur. Cabbage is the classic choice: shredded fine, steamed in its own juices with mustard and curry leaves, then tossed with coconut that has been crushed (never ground smooth) with green chilli, garlic and cumin. It comes out sweet, fluffy and lightly crunchy. Serve it with rice, sambar or moru curry, or eat it with chapati. Chef's tip: shred the cabbage as finely as you can; thin shreds cook in their own steam in a few minutes and stay bright.

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Tomato pappuTomato dal

Pappu (dal) is the backbone of an Andhra meal, and tomato pappu is the one most Telugu households cook on an ordinary weekday. Toor dal is cooked with plenty of ripe tomatoes, onion, green chillies and a little tamarind, then mashed to a thick, rustic consistency and finished with a fierce garlic and red chilli popu (tempering). It's tangier and hotter than a North Indian dal, and it's mixed into hot rice with a spoon of ghee and eaten with avakaya pickle and a crisp fried vegetable. Chef's tip: mash the dal and tomatoes together with a whisk or a wooden mathu while hot; it gives the creamy, slightly rough texture that blending never does.

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Kolkata aloo dumBaby potatoes in ginger tomato gravy

In Kolkata, aloo dum is the partner of luchi: hot puffed puris at a Sunday breakfast, or at the sweet shops and roadside stalls that sell 'luchi-alur dom' as a plate. Bengali aloo dum is thicker, sweeter and more gingery than its Kashmiri cousin, with no yogurt or fennel, and the potatoes are fried until their skins crinkle before they go into the gravy. A little sugar balances the chilli, and a final pinch of roasted cumin-coriander powder gives it the smell of a Bengali kitchen. Chef's tip: prick each boiled potato with a fork so the gravy gets inside.

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Kappa puzhukkuMashed cassava with coconut

Kappa puzhukku is the cassava dish of central Kerala, eaten in homes around Kottayam and Thrissur, and also served at the start of the Thiruvathira festival. Cassava is boiled twice, roughly mashed with coconut crushed with green chilli, shallots and garlic, then finished with a coconut-oil tempering. It's soft and starchy, with crunchy coconut and a lot of chilli heat, filling enough to be a meal with a fiery chammanthi or a ladle of moru curry. Chef's tip: when you peel the cassava, pull out the woody string that runs down the middle; it never softens.

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PunuguluDosa batter fritters

Punugulu are the bite-sized, golden fritters sold by the paper-cone along the streets of Vijayawada and Guntur on wet evenings, and made at home whenever the idli or dosa batter has gone a little too sour. A spoonful of thick batter with onion, green chilli and cumin is dropped into hot oil, where it puffs into a round ball with a crackly shell and a soft, spongy middle. Serve them hot with peanut chutney, ginger chutney or plain ketchup and a cup of chai. Chef's tip: add a spoonful of rice flour to the batter; it gives punugulu their crunch and stops them soaking up oil.

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Vatha kuzhambuTamarind gravy with dried berries

Vatha kuzhambu is what a Tamil kitchen cooks when the vegetable basket is empty: tamarind, sambar powder and a handful of sun-dried sundakkai or manathakkali berries fried crisp in sesame oil. It simmers down to a glossy, almost black gravy that is sour, a little bitter, hot and faintly sweet, and it keeps for days, so it travels in tiffin carriers and turns up at Brahmin home lunches all over Thanjavur and Chennai. Mix a spoonful into hot rice with a little sesame oil, and eat it with a plain poriyal or appalam to calm the heat. Chef's tip: fry the dried berries in the oil first and lift them out the moment they puff and darken; added at the end they stay crisp and bitter-nutty instead of turning leathery.

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Agra pethaCandied ash gourd sweets

Every train pulling out of Agra carries boxes of petha. The city's halwais have been candying ash gourd for generations, and the plain white kind remains the classic: firm, crystal-clear cubes with a sugar crust and a juicy centre, lightly scented with rose or kewra. At home it makes a good festival sweet for Diwali gifting because it keeps for two weeks. The firmness comes from soaking the gourd in food-grade slaked lime (chuna, sold as pickling lime) or, as some cooks prefer, in alum water. Leaving out the soak, or rushing it, is the most common mistake: the cubes fall apart in the syrup. Chef's tip: prick each cube deeply all over with a fork before soaking, so the lime water and later the syrup reach the centre.

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Beans poriyalGreen bean and coconut stir-fry

Poriyal is the everyday dry vegetable of Tamil Nadu, and beans poriyal is the one that appears on banana-leaf meals at weddings, temple annadhanam and Monday-to-Friday lunch boxes alike. The beans are chopped very small, steamed in their own moisture with a mustard and urad dal tempering, and finished with a shower of fresh coconut, so each spoonful is bright green, a little crunchy and nutty. It sits next to sambar or kuzhambu with rice, and it also makes a good filling rolled into a chapati. Chef's tip: chop the beans into tiny 5 mm pieces; they cook in minutes, stay green and soak up the tempering far better than long pieces.

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Chana jor garamSpiced flattened chickpea snack

Chana jor garam is sold from a tin box slung round a vendor's neck on the Kolkata Maidan, at Babughat and along Esplanade, with a sing-song call to match its name. Chickpeas are soaked, pressed flat, and fried or roasted until crunchy, then tossed to order with raw onion, tomato, green chilli, coriander, lime and a spice mix, and handed over in a paper cone. It is lighter than jhalmuri and much crunchier. The same snack is sold on Mumbai beaches; this is the Kolkata cart version. Chef's tip: flatten the soaked chickpeas while still damp, with a rolling pin between two cloths, so they split into thin discs.

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Pachi pulusuRaw tamarind soup

Pachi pulusu, 'raw stew', is Telangana's summer cooler: a no-cook tamarind water stirred with jaggery, finely sliced raw onion and green chilli, finished with a hot mustard-seed tempering. In the heat of April and May in villages around Warangal and Karimnagar, families pour it over hot rice with a spoonful of dal or a spicy fry, and it wakes up appetites dulled by the sun. Some add a smoky roasted brinjal mashed in, which gives it body. Sweet, sour and sharp at once, it takes ten minutes. Chef's tip: rub the onion with salt and a little chilli powder in your fingers before adding the tamarind water, so it softens slightly and flavours the whole bowl.

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Baked methi puri

A low-calorie version of the tea-time puri: wholewheat dough flavoured with fresh fenugreek, cumin, chilli and turmeric is rolled thin and baked until crisp and golden instead of being deep-fried. They keep for a couple of weeks in an airtight tin, ready for snacking with tea.

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Farari raw banana curry

Slices of matoke (green cooking banana) cooked with cumin, chilli and ginger in a tomato sauce thickened with roasted peanuts, a simple vegan curry for fasting days. The bananas turn tender and potato-like and soak up the nutty, tangy sauce. For a farari potato curry, use yogurt instead of tomatoes and potatoes instead of the bananas.

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Farari sago wadaPotato and sago patties

Crisp, golden sago wada made from mashed potato, sago pearls and cassava flour, seasoned with green chilli, ginger, coarse black pepper and sesame, then rolled in soaked sago so the outside fries into a crunchy, pearly crust. Serve hot with coconut chutney on fasting days. Makes 20.

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Farari chevdoPotato strip snack mix

The fasting-day version of Gujarati chevdo: fine strips and round crisps of fried potato tossed with fried peanuts, cashews, green chillies, curry leaves and coriander, and seasoned with black pepper, sugar, salt and a touch of citric acid. It's crunchy, peppery, sweet and tangy. Make a big batch, store it airtight and serve it on fasting days with tea. Makes about 1 kg.

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Farari coconut patticePotato patties with coconut filling

Golden potato pattice stuffed with fresh coconut, coriander and a sweet-sour lemon seasoning, bound with cassava flour so they suit a fasting day. The outside fries crisp while the inside stays soft, with a juicy coconut centre. Serve them hot with coconut chutney as a farari snack or light meal. Makes 15.

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Mixed sprouts bhelWarm sprouted gram salad

A warm, protein-rich and low-calorie bhel of mixed sprouts (green grams, bengal grams and moth beans) quickly cooked with cumin, onion, garlic, ginger, green chilli, tomato and spices, then finished with lemon and coriander. Ready in 15 minutes; serve hot as a snack or light meal.

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Banana and cashew slice

A soft, moist low-calorie slice made without flour, eggs or refined sugar: ripe bananas are blended with sunflower oil, vanilla and cardamom, then cashews, desiccated coconut, oats and grated apple. Baked and cut into wedges, it is naturally sweet and good with tea or in a lunch box.

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Jadi sevThick gram flour sev

Jadi sev is the thick variety of sev: crunchy gram flour noodles pressed straight into hot oil, seasoned with coarse black pepper and green chilli powder. Eat it by the handful with tea, or mix it into bhusu and chevdo. For medium sev, use a disc with slightly smaller holes.

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Fafadia gathiaSoft gram flour strips

Fafadia gathia are pale, airy strands of gram flour dough rubbed through a gathia jara straight into hot oil. Beating the salt and kharo water until white and frothy, then kneading the dough hard, makes them light and melt-in-the-mouth. Serve with fried green chillies, papaya sambharo or jalebi. For fuli (puffed) gathia, use coarsely ground black pepper instead of white pepper and press the dough through a fuli jara.

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ChevdoPotato straw snack mix

This is the big festive chevdo: crisp potato straws and rounds, fried chana dal, green grams and pawa, with cashews, peanuts and sultanas, curry leaves and green chillies, all coated in a sweet-hot seasoning and a fragrant whole-spice tempering with lemon. It makes a large batch for Diwali and keeps for weeks in air-tight tins. Golf potatoes are small, round potatoes.

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Sanchar papdiCrisp rice and lentil wafers

Sanchar papdi are thin diamonds of rice, gram and urad flour dough that blister and bubble as they fry, then get a dusting of sugar, chilli and sanchar (black salt). They are crisp, light and tangy, and a lovely tea-time snack. Pounding the dough until pale makes them extra crisp.

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